Gödel's Incompleteness
by Linnya
Summary: He had been alive for 934 years, he looked like a child, and he was scanning the corridors of Hogwarts with a sonic screwdriver. His chosen name was the Doctor, but as he was forced to walk the slow path amongst them, people had started calling him Barty Crouch Junior.
1. 0: 1994 (3) A

**Gödel's incompleteness**

**Prologue**

Setting: DW - roughly before "Planet of the Dead"; HP - throughout the life of Barty Crouch Jr.

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Doctor Who. Also, I apparently don't own any clever or original disclaimers.

**1994 (3) A**

Branches in his way, darkness in his view, and yet he kept on running – because that was all he ever did.

And there is was again, the screaming. It made him only run faster, but not quite fast enough. Again and again, sounds of sheer terror and agony echoed through the woods before he finally reached their origin. On a small clearing amidst the trees, illuminated by a glowing skull in the sky, a woman lay sprawled on the floor and was whimpering loudly. She must have tripped on her escape, over what looked like a fallen statue. But he had no time to further evaluate the situation as he saw another figure approaching her in long menacing strides.

His jaw tightened and he hurried towards the scene. Regardless of how little he understood the situation, there was only one thing he could do at this point. "Stop this right now!" he yelled and took a firm stand between victim and aggressor.

As expected, the man slowed down. "Out of the way, scum," he hissed icily and raised his arm, holding some kind of pointy, wand-like weapon.

While he _had_ expected to be threatened, the Doctor had definitely not foreseen a reply in a voice that was _his own_.

This was wrong.

"I won't let you harm any more innocents," he replied firmly. Because he would always protect the weak. But not because he understood why the silhouette he could make out in the faint moonlight resembled his own far too much for his liking.

This was so very wrong.

A dark chuckle escaped his opponent's lips. "Innocent?" he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Breathing heavily at the sheer impossibility of it all, the Doctor glared at the man. "Innocent until proven otherwise," he ground out and finally released the question that bothered him the most, "How can you be me and not understand that?"

Eyes that were his own returned his glare all too readily. "It is you who understands nothing," his double hissed. No…not a double. He was literally speaking to himself. A blondish, leather-clad version of himself, as he could vaguely see now. But worst of it all, this was what he would become. His future self, striding closer with a mad glint in his eye and a nervous twitch in his mouth, was deliberately ignoring the horrible paradox he was about to cause. "Tell me, Doctor," his other self whispered and placed the tip of his wand against the Doctor's chest, "If I kill you here and now, will it make a difference?"

Finally remembering to breathe, the Doctor took a step back. Thankfully, the woman had fled in the meantime, but this…

He raised his sonic screwdriver in defence. "It will and it won't, you know that," he retorted angrily. Had his older self even forgotten the basic principles the multiverse? He himself would die, but that would change nothing about his other self's past. Still, it would be one of the stupidest moves to make, for reality itself would bleed.

Just as he had finished that thought, a sharp pain shot through his back, forcing him to his knees. "You…can't be serious," he panted, feebly trying to get back to his feet.

And for the first time in their conversation, he saw counterpart's face softening. "You know, you might end up wishing you'd died here tonight," he whispered.

And the world went black.

* * *

A/N: Well, there we go. The prologue of a story that has been ghosting around my brain for nearly a month now. I feel like I should write an actual chapter full of remarks to this fanfiction, but I will just try to summarize the, err, warnings right here and now.

I greatly enjoy crossovers between Harry Potter and basically any other fandom I happen to find myself in, and David Tennant's involvement in both the Potter- and the Whoniverse is just too tempting to ignore. The Doctor and Barty Crouch Jr. sharing one appearance is often explained via the chameleon arch, memory loss or doppelgangers, yet I could not help but wonder: what would have to happen for the Doctor and Barty Crouch to _actually be the same person_?

Considering that motivation, please be aware that this is, basically, an experiment. I think I came up with a pretty nice explanation, but, ah, I'll just let you decide on that once I get around to actually uploading all of this.

In any case, please prepare for...

- Drama. The Doctor will be, in a way, living through major events in Barty Crouch's life, after all.

- "Science". Timetravel. And basically, well, a hopefully annoyingly twisted, timey-wimey plot.

- Creative freedom. I did some background research, but if I had the nerve to mind every detail of the Potterverse, I would not even have started writing this story. It roughly follows...some events, but beyond that, I can't guarantee anything.

And last but not least:

- A horrible experimental structure! :D The story is arranged in four sections, all of which deal with a different aspect of the Doctor's life in Wizarding Britain. So basically, you'll be reading about the same events four times from different angles, but only get the full picture in the very end. As if time travel wasn't bad enough already :D  
However, you'll still be able to read the chapters in another order. The years are given in the chapter titles, with the number in the brackets implying the order of the chapters taking place in that year. The letter at the very end mark the Doctor's subjective timeline; following the alphabetical order primarily and the chronological one secundarily will produce the story in the traditional order.

But that would be boring, wouldn't it? :D

So the preamble got awfully long after all, but if it did not scare you off: welcome aboard!


	2. 0: 1994 (6) A

Disclaimer: See last chapter.

**1994 (6) A**

Dragging his feet forward ever so slowly, he finally stumbled over a particularly large root and decided to…just keep lying there for a moment.

His eyes, tired from pain and exhaustion, provided only blurry images of the dimly lit forest around him, and the air was still reeking of the terror that had taken place here not long ago.

Pondering, he frowned at the branches blocking his view. How much time had passed? What exactly did "not long ago" mean? Since he had woken up on that clearing, disoriented and confused, he had dragged himself several hundreds of meters, yet in spite of the dark atmosphere, no remains of the battle could be seen. Whatever had happened here, somebody had made sure to clean up afterwards. But if so, why was _he_ still there? He had been exposed enough, for sure.

…or not. Most likely – that is, _definitely_ – his other self had made sure to keep him hidden… whichever way he would have accomplished that.

A wand, for example.

He had seen them on the people he had passed while running for the screaming woman, just as he had seen one on his older self.

The sudden realization, along with a very unpleasant intake of dirt-induced air, made the Doctor struggle to his feet again. Why was getting up so hard to accomplish anyway?

Ah, he had been shot with…whatever.

A wand, presumably. If so, wherever the Tardis had brought him this time, humans had developed a technology that worked, for the lack of a better description, like magic. More likely, they had somehow stumbled upon it, but that did not change the fact he had not been careful enough…and judging from the unhealthy glow he was developing, it had been quite a lethal blow.

Groaning in pain, he pulled himself forward. Step by step. Something felt off with the scenery he was facing, but he could not pinpoint what. Focusing on _anything_ was getting harder and harder, but at least he could eventually – finally! – make out something beautifully blue in the distance.

_What if it was a warning?_

His breaths haggard, his sight obscured by far too bright regenerative energy, he kept staggering forward, intent on not thinking too heavily, but enough.

He was dying, about to regenerate any moment now, and yet he had faced an older version of himself in the same body. How? Was it all a hoax? But it could not be. He had _felt_ it. It had been him. An embittered, angry, misanthropic version of himself. How had that happened, and when?

Their meeting might have been a warning, but he knew it just as well as his future self did…even if he had a say in the matter, the nature of his stay had been established as soon as he had first set food in this forest.

A forest that had bristled both with life and death, and now was entirely empty. Empty except for debris, broken statues and…not so broken ones.

Smiling in resignation, he rested his head against the one tree that still separated him from his spaceship. Five more meters, and he was not going to make it.

"They killed your friends in the battle," he asked softly, "and now you're retaliating?"

The statue in front of him merely answered with a silent scream and a horrible grimace.

"I really wish you didn't," the Doctor sighed. Here he was, caught in the aftermath of a battle he had not understood, facing a weeping angel while about to regenerate…and his eyes had never felt as heavy.


	3. 1: 1973 (1) B

**Part 1: Mother**

Disclaimer: see next chapter.

**1973 (1) B**

Waking up, it did not take him long to remember. After all, he was sitting at the exact spot where he had parked the Tardis…some years in the future.

At the very least, the forest itself looked much better – no signs of destruction anywhere, just the beauty of nature. He had a hard time appreciating that, though, for his own body felt more used than ever.

As a matter of fact, he was sure he had regenerated…somewhat. It didn't feel like a new body per se, but it did feel different enough.

Nose – check.

Ears – check.

Ginger? …can't tell.

Legs, hands, everything where it used to be.

What did strike him as odd about his new form, though, were those horribly short legs.

"What?"

And horribly short arms, at that.

"What!"

And a suspiciously young voice to go with that.

"What."

Standing up confirmed his suspicions – his upcoming regeneration combined with the touch of an Angel had resulted in quite an exaggerated physical anti-aging process.

"Well, that is new."

* * *

Eighty percent.

Judging from how much his beloved coat was suffering as he walked, he had shrunken to about eighty percent of his usual height. Which made his physical appearance that of a ten-year-old human boy.

It would be very difficult to interact with humans normally in this state, but beyond that, he felt strangely giddy. While his regenerations had grown younger and younger by appearance, he had never inhabited such a small body since _being_ this young. It would be quite an interesting experience.

He had been walking for about an hour when he finally caught sight of a small town. Half an hour later, he entered it. It looked cosy enough, but he couldn't help noting an almost foreboding atmosphere. The sun was shining brightly on a mild summer day, but there was nobody out in the open.

"What are you doing, boy?"

Well, nobody except for a short woman marching towards him with a stern expression. "Get inside!" she chided angrily, "These are no times for loitering!"

He tilted his head. "Why not?" he asked innocently, trying not to get confused by how even short women could suddenly tower over him.

As soon as she reached him, her anger was replaced with something new. "I haven't seen you around," she uttered in slight confusion, "Who are you?" Hesitating, she added almost fearfully, "…are you with _them_?"

Her sudden change of attitude bewildered him greatly, so he countered her fear with a broad smile and an offered hand, "Hello, I'm the Doctor. I only just arrived in this place, so I'm really not with anyone."

Finally, her eyes softened again. "So you're all on your own?" she asked quietly.

He blinked. Again her demeanour had changed and it took him a while to understand it was his current appearance that had triggered it. _A lost child_, he pondered, _is that what I am now? _Answering both her and his own questions, he finally admitted, "Well, I guess you could say that I _am_ lost."

She bit her lip and contemplated the sheepish boy in front of her for a very long moment, but eventually grabbed his arm, "Come inside, then."

Dragged along by a woman in unusual garb, he had yet again to wonder: what was going on in this strange world?

It was a magical world, that much he knew by now. An unscrupulous magical world, from what he had gathered. Wand-wielding monsters running about, disrupting peace wherever possible.

He did not want to think about how he would eventually end up as one of them.

Most likely these people did not know what powers they were dealing with. Any kind of so called magic he had come across so far had eventually just turned out to be what it had always been: science in disguise. Quite perchance, a civilization had found an energy source they had been able to utilize somehow – without understanding its nature in the slightest.

What kind of science would it be this time? He would definitely have to get his hands on one of those wands.

The woman led him to a house nearby, all but dragging him inside. "You do know that it's not safe outside, right?" she insisted as she gently but firmly seated him on a couch in the living room – which was a very _interesting_ living room, that much he had to admit. Actually, he was impressed enough to admit it loudly and jump up again as soon as he saw yet another intriguing detail of this literally _magical_ household. "Moving pictures!" he exclaimed as he curiously prodded the newspaper located on the windowsill, "And on actual paper, too! I haven't seen anything like it in _years_!"

Interrupted in her tirade once again, the woman took another moment to assess him. "So you are muggleborn?" she asked gently.

"I am…what?" he replied with a confused look, finally halting in step, "Is that a bad thing?"

"No, of course it's not." With a sad smile, she grabbed his arm to make him sit again. "But it does explain why you're not afraid of something so horrible."

His face turned serious within an instant. "Death Eaters," he drawled, stumbling upon those strange words as he pointed towards the newspaper he had found them in just a moment ago, "those are the people you were referring to earlier, aren't they?"

"So you do know, after all," she stated with a soft nod and trailed off, pondering. She never let go of his hand, though.

Sometimes, silence said more than mere words could. Clearly, she was thinking of something terrible. Clearly, she was afraid. Clearly, she had enough reason to mistrust even a ten-year-old child… and yet he had somehow won her over. He wondered why.

…probably her maternal instinct had done him that favour. It felt pretty strange he could do _that_ now. Awkwardly, he squeezed her hands, both to shake her out of her unpleasant thoughts and to get some answers badly needed. "I'm a traveller, lady," the Doctor told her and sought her eyes, "I got here by accident, and I know little more of the situation than what I just found in the newspaper. If you could help me out there, I would be very grateful."

Slowly, she calmed down, but refused to look at him. "You don't talk like a ten year old," she observed dryly, a strange resignation in her voice as she pulled something out of her pocket. "Are you after my husband?"

Closing his eyes for a moment, he released a bitter sigh. Long, wooden and pointed at him. He was beginning to _hate_ wands. "I don't even know your name, why would I care about your husband?" he snapped, a bit more angrily than intended. He forced himself to calm down before continuing with the only strategy that would always work for him: the truth. "I already told you I'm a traveller," he explained with a slight frown, "Well, I travel in time as well, and this time, I accidentally got myself shrunk."

Her expression faltered again. "Time traveller…?" she drawled. Slowly, but deliberately, he then moved the hand she was still holding his with to rest on his chest. "I have two hearts," he offered, "I'm not human, and I haven't even had as much as a chance to affiliate to any wizarding groups yet _because I only just arrived_."

Bewildered, she withdrew her hand and stared at it as if it had been lying to her.

"I love helping humans in need, though," he offered weakly, regaining her attention. She had already lowered the wand subconsciously, but didn't raise it again, either. "Are you really speaking the truth?" she whispered quietly – and earned a bright grin in return. "Trust me, I'm the Doctor."

* * *

"So you lost your space-ship?"

She had made tea – black tea with a bit of sugar and a lot of milk, just what he had needed the most. To go with the great tea, he had offered a couple of slightly crumbled astronaut's cupcakes from the 44th century, which he had found at the bottom of his pockets. On that note, he had been surprised he could still somehow _reach_ the bottom of his pockets.

They had been talking for a long time. He had told her of his more amusing adventures, because light distraction was what the poor, fearful woman needed. But he also told her how he was basically stranded. In exchange, she had eventually started humouring him. He could not tell whether she believed him, but at least she was willing to play along. Thus, she had told him of her world; of a wizarding society, hiding in plain sight amongst all the other humans. Of a wizarding war that was about to rage worse than she dared to even imagine. Of her husband, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

The two of them had come to this town on a holiday, but, busy as he was, he had left for work again. "I'll be back in an hour," he had said. That had been two days ago.

"I'm used to waiting, though," she stated with yet another sad smile, "What about you, mister time-traveller?" She looked at him, "Can _you_ take the slow path?"

Caught off guard, he gulped…and took a long moment to consider her question. Out of all fearful things in the whole universe, the slow path truly scared him. "Will you help me?" he asked her eventually, "Will you help me to get my spaceship back?" Of course he would not stay. Because running was the only thing he dared himself to do.

As he looked at her, her soft smile told him she had known his answer even before he did. "Or you could come with me!" he offered quickly and his frown brightened into a grin, "I'll ask somebody else, and I will show you the stars!"

Shaking her head slowly, she poured both of them another cup of the long-forgotten tea. "It's alright," she stated, "What do you need me to do?"

He frowned at her resignation, but rummaged in his pockets nonetheless. "In 1994, find my spaceship in the woods five kilometres east from here," he explained and handed her a key, "The instructions written in here will send it back to a timeframe close to this one. You only have to wait it out – but beware the Weeping Angels."

"I only have to wait, huh?" she repeated wistfully and grabbed the key, examining it in wonder, "So if I use this key in 21 years, your spaceship will appear in the backyard any moment now?"

"Well…" the Doctor began, tilting his head again, "She's not that accurate, my Tardis. Or rather, she's got a mind of her own. She might appear within a second…or she might appear within a year."

That got her to look at him again. "Then, if I take this key," she requested slowly, "will you at least stay with me until it arrives?"

He returned her gaze with wide eyes, but was actually not all that surprised. She had told him how she could not have any children and, as much as it still bewildered him, he was in a child's body right then. Even if it would only be temporary, even if it would be far from real, he had no objections to granting her that illusion. She was just as lonely as he was alone, and, truth be told, he enjoyed her company immensely. "I don't see why not," he finally agreed with a grin.

Again, she smiled back. But this time, her smile was a genuine one. "Thank you," she whispered and got up, pulling him into a hug, "I'll do everything I can, I promise."

* * *

Days and months and years were passing, but the Tardis never made it back to him. However, he no longer minded waiting those few years, for this one simple woman had managed teaching him to walk the slow path.

Her name was Cornelia Crouch, and she was the mother who loved.

* * *

A/N: Admittedly, it took me a while to get comfortable with shrinking the Doctor and having him adopted, but by now, I kind of like how he can, thanks to that second childhood, just allow himself to relax for once.


	4. 1: 1982 (3) B

Disclaimer: Worlds and characterts - not mine. (But I did make up Mrs. Crouch's first name, the HP Wiki had no information on that.)

**1982 (3) B**

Everything, wherever he looked, was filled with it.

Burning his eyes with its sheer existence. _Magic_.

Magic.

Magic.

An abomination to this world. Worse than nuclear energy. Worse than anything even the Daleks had come up with – no, strike tha–

A red sky, burning, distorted, dieing. His wife and his children, burning, distorted, dieing. He had given them a choice. He had given everyone a choice. 'Save yourselves,' he had told them. And then he had killed them.

A red sky, burning, distorted, dieing.

Gallifrey. Burning, burning, burning.

He had killed them.

Over and over, in his head.

Those creatures. Dementors. Killing his species over and over, in his head.

Magical creatures.

Magic.  
Why call it magic? Heirs of the Angels, breaking the world apart without realizing what they did.

Magic, a force that tried defying physics. How could they?

Gallifrey, burning, burning, burning.

Those damned Dementors.

"Son, can you hear me?"

Snapping his eyes open, he jerked away from the intruder. He wanted to yell, but found his voice dysfunctional. Ah, he had not spoken in quite a while.

"It's me, my dear," the same voice spoke.

The Dementors were gone for now.

Finally, his eyes focused on a woman he remembered looking much healthier. Cornelia Crouch, the witch he had grown attached enough to call mother during the days of his childlike appearance. _The woman he had called mother._ The longer he looked at her, the more he realized that…

"You're…dieing," he croaked. His voice rattled painfully, but the realization of him most likely having caused her illness struck much harder. The woman he had called mother.

_Martha, Donna, Rose. Wherever he went, pain and destruction in his wake._

She smiled at him. The woman he had called mother. It was the same sad and lonely smile she had worn when he had first met her all those years ago. And then she pulled him into a hug and whispered into his ear.

He stared at her in disbelief. Of course he had realized she would not send the Tardis back, for whichever reasons. He had decided to stay nonetheless. Long ago. Because he had to. Long ago. So long ago.

She withdrew from the hug and sat down in front of him. He kept staring at her. The woman he had called mother. She pulled a vial from her sleeve. What was she doing? "Don't," he whispered. Harshly, brokenly. Whatever she was doing, she _shouldn't_ be doing it.

She drank it, and she was in pain.

"Don't," he repeated.

She started turning into him, and he hated it.

"Don–," his voice died in his throat.

He hadn't noticed him. The man he refused calling father. Standing next to his wife, wand risen, Imperius-curse spoken. The man who had no conscience.

_Magic. Disgusting, impossible magic._

"It is her last wish," the man all but hissed as he forced his son to drink the contents of the second vial they'd brought. The man who had no heart.

Oh, the irony. The Doctor might have cried if he had been able to, if he had even been properly aware of his surroundings. So long ago, he had stayed to make the poor woman live her life again – now he was the death of her. Literally. Like a puppet on a puppeteer's strings, he was forced to become her. The man who had no conscience was forcing him to escape, trading in his wife's life.

But worst of it all, he left the Doctor no chance to speak any last words to her.

As he was walked down the corridors of Azkaban, the curse lulled his senses, yet his mind knew nothing else but anger and pain.

_Martha, Donna, Rose. _

_Martha, Donna, Rose, Cornelia. Wherever he went, pain and destruction in his wake._

And all the while, the words she had told him echoed through his mind.

"I'm sorry I won't be able to fulfil my promise," she had whispered, "but I'm so very grateful you stayed with me even though you knew that."

Her name was Cornelia Crouch, and she was the mother who loved.

_Part 1: Mother - End_

* * *

A/N: :'(_  
_


	5. 2: 1973 (2) B

**Part 2: Father**

Disclaimer: Don't own. (Also, I borrowed the coordinates further down from Google Maps.)

**1973 (2) B**

At first there were noises.  
Then he could taste the static in the air.  
A cup shattered on the ground.  
The Doctor looked at Cornelia.

It was his seventh afternoon tea with her since he had arrived in the wizarding world as a minimized version of himself, and he rather disliked the idea of their pleasant conversation ending prematurely.

Cornelia, however, started shaking. "They're here," she whispered in terror. Without any further ado, she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the fireplace. "The floo network, we must use it."

He blinked as she threw a handful of dust into the fire, remembering vaguely how she had mentioned it before. Travelling by magical fire, quite inventive indeed. Rather than making it glow in new colours, however, the powder ended up distinguishing the flame. She panicked, the Doctor blinked. Had she grabbed the wrong dust, or were higher powers at work? In either case, they had no time to waste.

"Can you apparate us out of here?" he asked and grabbed her hand to gain her attention. Breathing deeply, she concentrated for a moment. "No, I can't," she all but cried.

"Then let's run," the Doctor offered, already pulling her towards the house's backdoor. But she stopped him halfway.

He looked at her, she bit her lip. "You might have done that in the past," she stated, dragging him to another corner of the room, "but you can't outrun grown-up wizards in your current state." He frowned at her in disbelief. "Then…let me talk to them," he offered quickly, rounding her to look at whatever she was searching in a nearly empty cupboard, "I'm good at talking people out of stupidities."

She smiled at him, and he did not quite like where this was going. "I don't doubt that," she admitted, "but I can't risk them getting you, too."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she bet him to it. "_Fatiga_."

Cursing inwardly, he fell into a deep slumber.

_Annoying wands._

* * *

"How could this happen? Nobody was supposed to know her whereabouts!"

Waking up with a jolt, the Doctor tumbled out of a cupboard. Rather painfully so.

…wait, _what?_

Slightly disoriented, he looked from one angry face to another. All of which were, admittedly, rather surprised as well.

"Why hello," he told them sheepishly.

And, of course, as if it could have been anything else, his presence alone had five wands pointed at him.

"You!" a man in his mid-thirties yelled, stepping quickly towards the boy. Clad in a grey business suit, this was the man Cornelia had been talking much about: her husband Bartemius Crouch. While she had described him as rather tense in nature, the Doctor had the honour of first experiencing him fuming, but he had to admit: that anger was entirely justified. "She told me about you – was it you who betrayed her?" Grabbing the boy by the collar, he hissed through his teeth, "What have you done!"

Never faltering under the man's glare, the Doctor gently pushed his hands off himself. "I tried getting her to flee," he explained quietly, "But as you can see, she managed shoving me into a cupboard first."

Crouch fumed, but he kept his distance from the Doctor this time. "I take it your presence means they got her," the boy went on flatly. He tasted the air, but even if he guessed right – even if apparition was nothing more than a mere teleport, the remaining static was too faint to undo it. He could not trace her.

"Sir!" Another wizard entered the room. "I found this on the staircase," he reported and handed his superior a wand, "I'm…sorry, sir."

With shaking hands, Crouch accepted it. "It's…hers," he whispered hoarsely, nearly…desperate.

A heavy silence settled. The wife of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement had been kidnapped. How could this happen?

Finally, the Doctor could no longer stand the silence. "Well, what are we waiting for?" he quipped, regaining everyone's attention, "We've got her wand, we can find her!"

They looked at him like the child he currently appeared as, and it started exasperating him. "Look, a wand is connected to its owner via a distinct energy signature," he explained quickly, "I don't yet understand how exactly, but in any case we can use it to locate her."

They kept giving him that odd look. "A wand chooses its owner, but the connection doesn't go far enough," one of the assembled men explained as he crouched down to meet the boy's eyes, "I like your imagination, but there is no spell to find this wand's owner."

"Oh," the Doctor replied, somewhat aghast, "Of course." He resisted the urge to slap himself. "You're wizards, not scientists." Walking over to Crouch, he pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. "If my guess is right, we can just use GPS for this," he rambled and snatched the wand out of the man's hand, reading its energy signature with the screwdriver. "Or NNSS, let's see…" Handing the wand back to the startled politician, he held the screwdriver up into the air, trying to get a signal. "Triangulating, triangulating," he mumbled, "there!" Another flick of a wrist, another surring sound, and there it was, "+53° 22' 29.98", -1° 32' 55.97"_."_

He looked around triumphantly, but yet again only met blank stares. "…You do know what coordinates are, don't you?"

* * *

Crouch did not listen to him.

The Doctor liked thinking the wizard would not even have listened if he had faced a grown man rather than a child-by-accident, but he feared that was not the truth. It had been several hours since he had woken up, and ever since then, he had been handed from department to department. The apparition had been fun, admittedly. Far away from and yet a tiny taste of the freedom of the Time Vortex itself.

They had asked him lots of questions, for they could not understand his reasoning… or they just did not want to. This time, they had just dumped him in the waiting area, and finally it dawned upon him. _He did not need them to understand_. The body of a child had, at least in that respect, made him feel dependent and vulnerable – but he was still the same person. A coward. A hero. A madman.

There was a fireplace just in front of him, and he knew where he wanted to go. Thus, he grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped into the flames, "Hallamshire Golf Club, Sheffield."

* * *

Tumbling out of strange places seemed to become his new hobby.

And having several wands pointed at him, of course.

They glared at him, black-clad wizards with battle-torn faces. Consumed by hatred and fear. Still threatening him with their wands. "Hello, I am the Doctor," he grinned and stepped in their midst, "Who do I have the pleasure of dealing with?"

Snorts echoed throughout the room.

"What are you doing here, little boy?" a black-haired woman snarled, stepping closer, prowling around him like a cat around its prey. He had seen her picture in the newspaper – he was dealing with Bellatrix Black.

"I'm here for a bargain," he announced and met her eyes, "You have taken something that was mine. I want Cornelia back."

Shrill laughter echoed through the room. "Bartemius Crouch will fall," Black giggled as she leant dangerously close to him, "and there's nothing you can do about it, little boy."

He smiled dryly as he corrected her, "_Bartemius Crouch_ would rather sacrifice his wife than succumb to you, as I'm sure you know."

Her face turned into an ugly scowl. "Then we'll have a lot of fun torturing her," she purred and caressed his cheek with her sharp fingernails, "in front of your eyes, that is."

Never shrinking away from her ghostly touch, he narrowed his eyes. "You know, about the bargain I offered earlier?" he suggested, "It's your lives for hers." He was almost ashamed at how much he enjoyed watching her face distorting at those words. "Just as I know about this location, the whole ministry does," he explained amiably, never minding how her hand was slowly creeping towards his throat, "It is time for you to _run_."

On cue, the lighting flickered. Doors smashed open in the neighbouring rooms. Yells echoed from several directions.

"Evacuate!" another Death Eater hollered through the room.

At once, several _plops_ could be heard. All too soon, only Black and the Doctor were left. "How dare you little…" she seethed, squeezing his throat. Another door burst open, and she released a horrible scream as she thrust his head against the wall, _"I'll make you regret you ever lived."_

The Doctor, albeit losing his focus rather quickly, could not suppress a final grin. The lights had been his screwdriver's panic setting – but the voices were real. He had far from expected it, and yet they had come after all.

…but they had arrived too late, nonetheless.

* * *

He dreamt of Rose. His beautiful, strong and witty Rose. She was lost to him, though. Or rather, he had left her. _"Don't go,"_ she cried bitterly, _"Don't leave me alone!"_

Her tears dripped on his cheeks, and he slowly opened his eyes. "Please don't die," a woman whispered desperately, "This is not your war, they should never have found you." For a while, she sobbed quietly, pulling him closer against her body. He felt like a doll – small and vulnerable.

…and actually, he was just that. His mind sorted his thoughts much more slowly than what he was used to, but bit by bit, it was getting him somewhere.

Sore head and slight trauma. Throat and neck, painful but hopefully functional.

He was still stuck in that strange childish body, and it was actually the woman he had been looking for who was holding him so tightly. "Cornelia," he whispered softly.

It worked like a charm, she stopped sobbing in an instant. "Thank you for taking care of me," he stated as he slowly, carefully, moved into a sitting position. "Are you hurt?" No matter how much he squinted, he could barely make out anything in this darkness.

Something moved. Was she brushing the tears out of her face? "Not any more than you are, stupid," she cried weakly. He disliked the sound of that, but he opted against inquiring further. "Why did you come?" she continued, "Now both of us won't make it."

He grabbed her hand to soothe her. "You bribed me to stay with you, didn't you?" he reminded her gently and produced the screwdriver from his pocket, "But about us not making it…I'd like to object to that."

A blue light and a whirring sound – and she was gone from the dungeon. "Thought so," he grinned and repeated the procedure on himself. After all, he had been right: Apparition _was_ just another kind of teleportation and, as such, undoable if you only had the right gadget.

* * *

Blue and black swirls, but nothing as beautiful as the Vortex.

What was this place, anyway?

What exactly _was_ shifting whenever these wizards cast a spell?

Suddenly, he found himself facing a wall. His eyes took an agonizing moment to focus on anything, but when they did, he recognized his new location as the room with the fireplace. Blinking once more, he looked around. The lights were fully lit, with ministry workers either bristling about or looking at him in shock. Suddenly, everything about the golf club's meeting room looked much less menacing – well, everything except for the man who had suddenly appeared in front of him. But then again…

Bartemius Crouch's demeanour had changed a lot during those few hours. His distrust of the Doctor was still as obvious – but so was the fear for his wife. "Where is she?" he asked quietly.

The Doctor sent him a tired look and checked his screwdriver. "+53° 22' 29.98", -1° 32' 55.97"", he read out loud, "just like last time." This time, he didn't wait for the wizard to get angry before explaining, "She's in one of the other rooms – the one where they kept her earlier."

Crouch turned to walk away, but suddenly changed his mind. After regarding the Doctor for a long moment, he finally offered his hand. "Let's go then," he all but commanded and helped the boy get back to his feet. The Doctor's body screamed in pain, but he did not object. Rather, he was surprised.

For a man like Bartemius Crouch, that simple action had been a huge concession.


	6. 2: 1974 (1) B

Disclaimer: I'll just do one ultimate disclaimer here now, sheesh. Neither Harry Potter nor Doctor Who belong to me - and it will stay this way throughout every upcoming chapter of this story.

**1974 (1) B**

She left out the part of him being an alien.

Ever since that fateful day, her husband had been overprotective. She was to be escorted wherever she went, and even most of the time she spent at home. Thankfully, though, Crouch had resorted to entrusting the Doctor with that task whenever possible.

And all of a sudden, without even realizing it, he became part of the family.

A _family_.

He still was not sure how that had happened.

One day an owl flew by, dropping a letter on top of his head, bewildering him greatly. He was aware of wizarding post, mind you, but the letter was not addressed to him…or was it?

A while ago, Cornelia had asked for his credentials. He had told her he had none for he did not need any. "But you might have to get an official existence here," she had replied, "It's been half a year and your blue box hasn't appeared yet." She didn't mention how she feared she would not be able to keep her promise, and he would never do so, either.

Truth be told, he was unsettled for a moment. He had spent far too much time at that place already, but then again, it was not all that bad. Could it be? Was he growing used to the slow path? At least he was aging at a normal rate, so maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be. "Don't worry," he had reassured her, "If anybody asks, I still have a universal passport." She had raised an eyebrow at that, thus he had shown it to her: the psychic paper. In just that moment, the doorbell had rung, and he had eventually failed to ask her what she had seen.

It all came back to haunt him now.

"Dear Bartemius," the letter read in fancy writing upon parchment, "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

He dropped the letter, confused at how he had not foreseen this turn of events. They had talked about this topic, too. "If you're already stuck in this time," she had suggested with a soft smile, "why don't you try your hand at magic? It might prove useful."

Taking a deep breath, he picked the letter up and stormed inside the house. So from what he had gathered, he had been adopted and sent off to a boarding school on the same day, but worst of it all…

"_Bartemius Crouch Junior._" he reread dryly, "…really?"

* * *

A/N: Thanks to the aforementioned structure of the story, there will be quite a few chapters as short as this. If that bothers you greatly, please let me know and I will try to bundle the shorter chapters, but then looking up the other events in the same timeframe will get more complicated.

In any case, I hope you like it so far. I'll keep proof reading and uploading for the next few days, but please feel free to tell me your thoughts and opinions :)


	7. 2: 1975 (1) B

**1975 (1) B**

He needed glasses. Or was it that he was losing his grasp on reality?

This incarnation had been slightly far-sighted before, but ever since coming to that world, he had witnessed his focal length gradually increasing. Adapting his glasses to somewhat tolerable sharpness and contrasts posed, of course, no challenge for his screwdriver, loyal companion as it was. However, it was enough to get him thinking.

While he had vaguely taken notice before, the world had only become truly blurry once he had entered Hogwarts. He could have blamed the whole shrinking fiasco for that unexpected development, but he found it more logical to blame the use of magic.

It was only when he had drawn that conclusion that he had awoken from the stupor that was his second childhood. He had been lulled by the illusion of a family life, safe and sound and not always on the run.

But at his heart, he was still a wanderer. A traveller. A scientist.

When he had first learnt of magic, he had been dying to find proper scientific terms for that strangely impossible phenomenon.

_Not impossible_, he corrected himself, _only improbable_.

Finally that thirst for knowledge reawakened. Hogwarts was a fun experience, a pastime if you will, but what he needed the most was proper knowledge. Proper _research_.

Thus, he devoted himself to finding an answer to that one question. _What is magic?_

He had already done many experiments of different scales. With a bit of concentration, he managed transfiguring only one single atom at a time. The screwdriver's readings told him how the wand channelled his thoughts into a language the universe understood, but it didn't grasp why said universe responded, adjusting the states accordingly. Like a quantum transmitter, but more mighty.

At one point, he was stuck. He had come up with some theories of how magic might not per se defy the laws of physics, but those had turned out to be either false or improvable. If he just had his Tardis…she would have offered him an answer within _seconds_. Well, she _might_ have.

But she was still many years away.

Slightly frustrated, he returned to consulting others on his thoughts.

Much to his chagrin, however, the magical society cared little for scientific or even magical progress. Even Hogwarts' professors were not interested in his question, but there were _bound_ to be at least some wizards or witches he could lead a proper scientific talk with.


	8. 2: 1976 (1) B

Current update flood: Chapters 7+8

**1976 (1) B**

"Azkaban without trial, are you serious?"

From one moment to the next, the quiet yet pleasant atmosphere at the dinner stable chilled. Bartemius placed his cutlery next his plate in a deliberately slow motion. "Why don't we talk about Quidditch?" Cornelia suggested quickly, waving her hands in the air, "I'd really love to see one of your matches next year, son!"

The Doctor sent her a brief smile, but focused his gaze on his father again, "Apropos Quidditch, did you know human rights have a much longer history than flying broomsticks?" he elaborated and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Also, they're universally acknowledged." Lazily, he sipped on his cup of tea. "So why not in Wizarding Britain?"

Bartemius forcefully put down his own cup. "We are at war," he stressed through gritted teeth, "It's us or them. You may be able to defend yourself, but the majority of this country's witches and wizards aren't that lucky."

"I am aware of that," the Doctor replied adamantly, "Fighting fire with fire makes us no better, though. If the ministry can't grant criminals a trial, then it's justice itself that has failed."

His father sent him a sharp glare. "I am not going to let somebody talk down to me who refuses to get involved," he spat out.

The Doctorfroze at that. The wizarding world was going downhill, but _this_ was a decision he had made long ago. He would avoid taking any political action as long as he could…because the sooner he did, the more likely it became that he eventually _would_ turn into what he had witnessed on that chilly summer night in 1994. "Point taken," he admitted at last, "I did not mean to denounce your work. However, it _will_ be helpful to restore the ministry's own integrity before anything else." With that, he stood, sending a final meaningful glance towards his so called _father_.

Said man, however, only snorted in response. "Get back to school, boy."

* * *

Notes: Thanks for reading this far already!


	9. 2: 1977 (2) B

Argh, I'm putting this up, too, thus: Current update flood, chapters 7+8+9

* * *

**1977 (2) B**

_Dear Mr. Crouch,_

_Thank you for your letter concerning one of my papers on scientific explanations of magic. I cannot go into detail right now, but I would very much look forward to discussing this topic with you in person. In case you are interested, how would you like to meet me June 20th, to have a nice chat over tea?_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Frank Longbottom_

* * *

Smiling, the Doctor folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. It held the best news he had heard in a long while. It was time to meet them.

Frank and Alice Longbottom were wonderful people. Both of them worked as aurors and as such spent the majority of their time opposing the Dark Lord. However, they were academics at heart. Considering he had not expected them to understand any of his hypotheses, they were doing remarkably well.

"What confuses me most is how time-discretely magic works," the Doctor rambled, "Take, for example, a teleport." Rather at random, he grabbed an apple from the table and moved it. "While I send that apple from point A to point B," he explained, stopping the apple's way in the middle by intercepting its way, "it takes a certain amount of time to arrive, no matter how small that may be. If I take magic, however…" frowning, he placed the apple on its original spot and chanted it to the other side of the table, "there _is no in-between_. Teleport can move you infinitely quickly, but Apparition does so in an instant." Finally, he looked back up, adjusting his glasses with a frown. "How?"

"Teleportation, you say?" Alice commented as she took the apple and peeled it, "I wasn't aware muggles had an equivalent to Apparition."

The Doctor tilted his head, "Well, not yet, but it's palpable."

Meanwhile, Frank had gotten up and wandered to his bookshelf. "You know, what you just said reminds me of a theory I once read," he offered as he scanned the titles, "Have you ever wondered about parallel universes?"

"The multiverse, of course," the Doctor replied with a nod, "If at any given moment, anything can happen, then for any possible state the reality can be in, there's a universe in which it is." He halted for a moment, "…are you suggesting what I think you are?"

"It's an interesting thought, isn't it?" Frank whistled as he got back to the couch. He did not seem to have found what he was looking for, but that was not all that important considering the new possibility they had just found. "There's no way to prove it," he went on thoughtfully, "but what if our spells don't change, say, the state of an object, but rather switch us into a universe where the object is in that state, but nothing else has changed?"

The Doctor's eyes widened and he sat perfectly still as the implications flooded his mind.

If Frank noticed his distress, he did not show it. "It makes you feel powerful, doesn't it?" he pondered with a soft smile, "But I guess it doesn't matter anyway. There's no way of finding out which thesis is correct, is there?" Finally, he looked back at the Doctor who still sat frozen. "Barty?" he inquired in slight worry.

The Doctor inhaled deeply. "I really hope you're mistaken," he whispered and ran a hand through his hair. Only after another breath did he dare lowering his glasses. For the first time in years he focused on the blurry images his eyes were providing him with.

And after all that time, he finally realized that he was not farsighted at all.

Rather, his generally hazy vision resulted from many small distortions; his eyes were showing him the traces of spells spoken. But these traces weren't just residuals, he realized – he was looking at cracks in the fabric of reality itself. And he was facing an enormous amount of them.

He took another shaky breath. How could he not have realized it? The missing factor, the answer he had been looking for. That was it, and he had seen it all along without acknowledging it at all.

"This…" he whispered weakly as he looked at the apple he could make out in five different spots, "I don't see how this reality hasn't shattered yet."


	10. 2: 1980 (1) B

Sunday upload flood: Chapters 10..16. (including several shortish chapters again Dx)

Lots of thanks to bbfitz and HaleandCullen! You have no idea how grateful I am for those reviews :)

**1980 (1) B**

Alice and Frank would not help him.

He had tried explaining to them what he had seen that day on their coffee table.

_How magic itself was wrong._

Friendly but adamantly, they had declined his thesis. He was jumping to conclusions, they had said. And they had not understood – but somebody else had.

He had heard the tales about _him_, of both his genius and his cruelty. Lord Voldemort was a man to be admired and feared at the same time.

The Doctor was absolutely aware of how the wizard he had rather enjoyed conversing with was the sole reason of the wizarding world's panicked state. And yet, his own hunger for knowledge had, eventually, led him straight into said wizard's arms.

And he was _brilliant_.

Mislead, angry, but brilliant all the same.

Upon creating the first Horcrux, so very long ago, the Dark Lord, too, had seen the wrongness in this world. He had found the truth to that _wrongness_ even before the Doctor had, and he had fought it by declaring war on improper magic.

By persecuting muggleborns. It was a desperate choice of action, but the only palpable alternative lay in eradicating magic itself. Both were horrible choices, but at least the Doctor succeeded in convincing the Dark Lord to choose a less bloody path, whichever path that may be; even after years, neither wizard nor time lord had found out how to accomplish their feat. How to keep reality from shattering. They were trying, though.

It wasn't as if they needed to erase an entire population's abilities to utilize magic. Wizards were mildly telepathic in nature, but it was their wands that caused those rifts in time and space. Destroying all wands on the planet…that was something the Tardis could accomplish within a heartbeat, but alas…he missed her.

He missed her so very much.


	11. 2: 1981 (2) B

**1981 (2) B**

Karkaroff. He had seen him once or twice.

"If you cannot offer any names of significance," Bartemius announced with an air of finality, "you will be sent back to Azkaban."

The Doctor almost pitied the man, but then again, he, too, was walking on thin ice. Ever since he had found out about the true nature of magic, his search for a solution had led him to many places.

Eventually, to the Dark Lord. A brilliant man – a frightening man.

The Doctor had finally managed changing him, but then…he had vanished. Driven by the fear of a mere prophecy, the Dark Lord had sought out the boy and, in doing so, fulfilled his own destiny.

"I know another name," Karkaroff whispered frantically, "someone who participated in the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom."

The room was filled with whispers, and the Doctor's face fell. What was Karkaroff insinuating? Surely he was not going to…

Bartemius brought down the gavel loudly._  
He will knock four times.  
_"Silence!" he yelled, "Tell us a name!"

Karkaroff's face twitched as he opened his mouth.

_"Bartemius Crouch Junior."_

The entire room fell silent, and the Doctor closed his eyes. Frank and Alice. Poor Frank and Alice. They had been wonderful people. The only mistake they had made was to befriend him. In asking them for help, he had unintentionally led other Death Eaters there. He had never wanted this to happen, but it was his responsibility. When he had managed stopping the torture, he had been far too late.

And thus, he did not resist as an angry mob pushed him towards his father's lectern. Bartemius Crouch Senior – the man who had refused advices even the Dark Lord had heeded. "Hello Father."

Bartemius' face was unreadable as he looked down onto his son, just as he had done for years. Finally, he opened his mouth, "You are no son of mine."


	12. 2: 1982 (2) B

**1982 (2) B**

Dementors. Creatures of the dark, living off human happiness.

He was lucky not to be human, then.

He had been to prisons before, and these creatures did not affect him as badly as the others…or did they? Why did he feel so incredibly empty?

Even without his wand or sonic screwdriver, he could, theoretically, escape this place with some wit and patience. But why…should he even bother?

Glaring at the wall, he released another ragged breath.

He still knew no proper way to actually get rid of magic, and neither he nor the Dark Lord were in any position to further pursue what little they had come up with so far. But at least, this prison was much less obscured by cracks in the universe than any other magical place he had been to. It was dark, it was damp, it was lonely, but at least in that respect, it was just like any other location.

He had long grown out of the childish appearance he had gained by chance, but he was there again: lost and lonely.

The Dark Lord was gone, and so was the Doctor's faith in the _family_ he had believed having.

_Bartemius Crouch._

He had made the mistake of telling him. Upon being framed by Karkaroff, during the one short private moment they had, he had told Bartemius the truth. Of how he had met the Dark Lord during his researches. Of how he had not meant to involve Frank and Alice but rather tried to help. But Bartemius would not listen.

"I trusted you," he all but spat.

"Why do you think there were no more raids before his downfall?" the Doctor explained in frustration, "I managed changing his mind!"

Bartemius looked down at him in disgust. "Say what you will, your crimes will be punished."

And with that, he had left, only to return a year later delivering the Doctor's true punishment – a horrible curse and a horrible sacrifice.

Bartemius Crouch, true to his principles, traitor to his family.

* * *

Notes: So many misunderstandings :(


	13. 2: 198? B

**198? B**

He could feel the universe.

Vast and tiny, and so very, very wonderful.

"I missed you, my old friend," he breathed, and he reached out for the stars.

For a moment, they appeared to shine brighter, just for him. He marvelled at their eternal beauty. All of them would burn out sooner or later, fading away in the evening sky, and yet they would always leave a footprint in the history of reality for they, too, had contributed in creating the contemporary.

Just as he had often done in the past, he would stare at this sky for hours, remembering the sheer freedom it provided. But it never lasted. All too soon, the universe would leave him, abandoning him in a dim room that was out of his reach.

It was day again.

Strangely enough, he felt rather content, sitting there, barely seeing anything. Every once in a while, he noticed himself eating. Every once in a while, he took vague notice of other living beings in his presence. But he could only think about how he wanted to watch the universe again, and finally the night returned.

He reminisced soaring through the Vortex this time, to the beginning of the universe and back again. Further and further he went, and then…he realized he had not done this in a long time.

The night subsided as he remembered…years ago he had been called a lost child, but that metaphor no longer held.

Rather, he was a bird in a cage. He could escape easily enough, but his wings were still broken…and the sky was falling in on him.


	14. 2: 1994 (1) B

**1994 (1) B**

Last night, the Doctor had not seen the universe.

He had stayed just to experience those nights, to feel _home_, but…the universe had gone. In its stead, the void had greeted him. He was finally losing his grip on reality, in a chillingly literal sense.

"Young Master, you must eat well!"

He twitched as bread was forced down his esophagus. He gulped, at last. Tedious, so very tedious. He wished he could not tell how long he had been under Bartemius' curse already, whether it had been days, or months, or years… but alas, the lethargy of being trapped had made him count the nights that passed.

4197.

He had been a prisoner of his own body for eleven years. And without his actual consent, his physique had adapted to the curse. Rather than growing weaker from never changing his position, his muscles cultivated their innate resistance to the inhibitors magically imposed on them, which in turn lead to spontaneous spasms he would probably not get rid of any time soon.

Of course this had to happen eventually. As a matter of fact, he was surprised it had taken so long. Like a human immune system fighting a cold, the Imperius Curse was no real threat to a time lord.

But then again, he had never really tried. He had wanted to see the universe, he had _enjoyed_ the curse and delusions it caused, and…he had entirely forgotten about the task at hand. He was late, and as if it had foreseen these circumstances, his body was forcing him back into a state of relative freedom just in time.

"I don't think Master Crouch will be visiting us today, that I do not," the house elf was rambling in the meantime, "he said the paperwork was stacking up, that he did."

Winky. The Doctor looked at her. For the first time in eleven years, and through a blurry image in spite of his glasses, he actually _looked_ at her – the house elf he had befriended many years ago. Back then, upon entering the household, he had been both thrilled and aghast. House elves – fascinating and infinitely capable beings that served humans out of their own free will. He had suspected slavery, but had eventually come to terms with the fact that these small but wonderful beings were, not unlike the Ood, naturally benign. Winky actually _liked_ serving them.

And in that moment, she returned his thoughtful gaze in surprise. "What do you need, young master?" she asked curiously, if slightly afraid. He briefly scanned his surroundings, wondering. What did he need, indeed? His gaze lingered on a cup of water. Should he really be doing this? Communicating with Winky. But she probably already knew anyway.

That he could talk if he was not so lazy.

That he could just stand up if he got a grip on himself.

Wonderful beings, those elves were. Sensitive in regards humans did not care about, yet loyal all the same. "Careful now," she muttered, more to herself than him, as she gently led the cup to his lips.

The water tasted wonderful. Quickly, she placed the cup back on the table and returned to his side with a gentle smile on her face.

He had always liked her. _Winky. Gentle, wonderful Winky._

Her eyes widened and she turned away quickly. "You are too kind, young master," she mumbled hastily, "Winky does not deserve your praise, that she does not."

He blinked. He had not spoken, had he?

"Your mind is very loud today, young master," she replied, looking back at him shyly.

He dared smiling just the tiniest bit. _Ah, telepathy, of course. _Wonderful beings, those house elves. More receptive than humans in oh so many ways.

She was still watching him nervously. He remembered seeing that expression a long time ago. As a matter of fact, this was her version of a blush. "Young master, if I may ask," she whispered hesitantly, "would you talk again?" Recoiling from his watchful gaze, she stared at her feet, reddening more than ever. "Winky does not know why Master Crouch punishes you, nor why you do not resist," she rambled quietly, "she merely likes the sound of your voice, that she does."

Something stirred in his hearts, and he feared his mental state was unbalanced enough for her to feel it, too. Her words had actually reached him for once, and she quickly withdrew further. "It is not Winky's place to mention those things, of course," she apologized hastily and hurried to the wall, "Please forgive Winky, young master."

His eyes widened as he realized what she was doing. Twenty-one long years ago, he had taught her not to ever punish herself again – no, he had outright _forbidden_ her to do it. She must have fallen back into that habit quite a while ago, but he had never noticed.

"Don't."

After years of disuse, his voice broke in an instant. Instead of talking on, his mouth merely twitched, but his hand still managed holding her back. And that movement had barely taken any effort at all.

She stared up at him with watery eyes. "Young master," she whispered in a shaky voice. He could not tell whether she was relieved or afraid until she added a quiet, "Thank you."

His breath did not come out right, and he lost his balance for a moment. Even though he was clumsily toppling off his chair, he still managed catching the elf in a hug.

"Win…ky," he rasped into her ear, "run with me."

He had seen the universe, but it had been a mere dream. This, a breathing, living, feeling being in his arms, so full of life and _sheer beauty_, was reality. A reality he should have returned to much earlier.

"Young Master," Winky all but cried, "I asked for Master Crouch to take you to the Quidditch World Cup, that I did."

* * *

Glasses could only correct what little vision there was.

The state of reality itself had deteriorated tremendously over the years.

He lingered too close to the rift. His hearts beat at an alarming rate, and he feared he might be screaming already without even realizing it. No matter if mentally or physically, someone noticing his presence would become problematic, and he was currently seated amidst a large number of people.

They were preoccupied, though. The Quidditch World Cup. He had enjoyed the game at one point, so long ago, but he did not bother caring about it now. His mouth twitched in distress. If only he could grab a wand and sneak away…

Something rustled behind him. Hidden safely under the Invisibility Cloak, he turned to see a boy. A boy with a wand.

…good enough.

* * *

He could not walk straight, but he managed.

He could not even _think_ straight…but he managed.

After the game had ended, Bartemius' curse had ordered him back towards the portkey…and the Doctor, invisible as he was, had just walked off into another direction. Resisting had barely taken any effort at all.

When the wizard had noticed his escape soon after, it had been far too late. The Doctor had fully freed himself of the curse…and he was _running_.

He felt the ground beneath his feet, the wind in his face and the very air in his lungs. He ran deeper and deeper into the forest, away from wizards, away from the rift.

And his vision cleared ever so slightly. Finally out of adrenaline, he allowed himself to slow down… and immediately collapsed on the ground.

Staring at his right hand in disbelief, he actually saw two of them. Only then did he notice – his hearts were out of synch. Realities had already collided in this forest, but not entirely so… and he was caught in both of them at the same time. The void was near and…

His mouth twitched. He was late.

At this point, he no longer cared if anybody heard him.

He was _too _late.

And he screamed.


	15. 2: 1994 (4) E

**1994 (4) E**

Mankind never knew how closely it had evaded destruction that day.

But some had noticed.

Albus Dumbledore. Hermione Granger. Harry Potter. Winky. Claudius Burke. And several others. Whoever had been exposed to the Vortex long enough, consciously or not, was bound to have taken notice, but none of them had _moved_.  
That was alright, though, for the Dark Lord had. He had, if only temporarily, freed the Doctor from the terror to make him see that one tiny detail.

Things had progressed too far for them to save anything. They had been late.

But then again, the Doctor had always been.

So which was that wonderful Latin word again? The one that always got him running?

Tardus, tarda, tardum. She might have been _late_, but she was _back_.

Mankind never knew how the Doctor had, once again, saved them from destruction by cheating just the tiniest bit.  
That, too, was alright, for he had been stuck on the slow path far too long anyway. It was time to start running again. But before that, he had one more thing to accomplish. _One more life to save._

After ascending the creaky stairs of an old, abandoned house, he gently pushed a wooden door open. "It has been far too long, my lord."


	16. 2: 1995 (1) E

Sunday upload flood: chapters 10-16

**1995 (1) E**

On several occasions, he met Bartemius again.

But Bartemius never met him – not as such. Disguised as Alastor Moody, the Doctor had taken on teaching at Hogwarts, for both the Dark Lord's and the children's sake. While he had been told the Triwizard Tournament would take place that year, he had failed to acknowledge his father's organisational involvement until he saw him on the night of the welcoming feast.

* * *

On several occasions, he considered confronting Bartemius.

But he never did – not because he feared the consequences, but because he had never decided whether to detest or pity the man. Bartemius had accepted the Doctor into his family. He had sacrificed his wife's last moments for him. Maybe, with the never ending Imperius he had tried offering him a peaceful existence.

But considering things from another angle… reality had nearly shattered on Bartemius' behalf. The Doctor's involvement with Voldemort might have broken Cornelia's heart, but it had been her husband's judgement that killed her.

She had been unable to keep her promise, but thanks to his imprisonment, so had the Doctor.

And it had broken his hearts, too. He had been older than both of them combined, and yet he had felt like their son. They had been a family once.

"It's hard living without a family, isn't it?" he overheard Bartemius talking to the Potter boy, "But somehow, we manage."

He had been shooing the students back into the castle, yet hearing those words, the Doctor could no longer keep his distance. "Inviting Potter to the ministry's recruitment camp, are we, Crouch?" he interrupted them. His words sounded much harsher in Alastor Moody's voice, but he did not particularly mind. Maybe he was jealous, or maybe he was confused. Regardless, Bartemius' eyes, unguarded for just the shortest moment, repeated what his voice had implied earlier. After all, the wizard had emotions too. And...he was just as hurt and confused as the Doctor was. Maybe, just maybe, they would be able to reconcile after all. The corner of the Doctor's mouth twitched at that thought.

…and Bartemius noticed.

The wizard excused himself and left for the solitude of the forest. The Doctor met him there, but he did not find a power-hungry politician nor a man ready to defend himself. Bartemius Crouch Senior was broken. "All this time, you have been hiding in plain sight," he uttered and watched the alleged ex-auror wearily, "So you are on another mission for your lord?"

The Doctor took a deep breath in the hopeless attempt to calm down. This was not going to be easy. "Is this a rhetorical question," he asked bitterly, and his mouth twitched yet again, "or will you listen this time?"

Bartemius' face fell, and he did not reply for a very long time. "I am sorry," he finally offered quietly, "if only I had paid more attention to you, you would have never strayed from the right path."

"No," the Doctor retorted at once. All the anger and frustration built up in thirteen years bubbled up in his throat, and he desperately tried fighting the words that would do more harm than good. "_I am not wrong,_" he insisted through gritted teeth.

"So the Dark Lord cared for you where I didn't?" Bartemius replied with a sad smile.

_The Dark Lord listened where you didn't, _the Doctor almost spat, but he couldn't do that. Bartemius was already broken, and both of them were missing the point.

"I'm sorry," the wizard whispered, "and I'm tired. Your anger is justified, so rest assured. I will not stand in your way again."

Resignation.

The Doctor opened his mouth to correct their conversation, but no words left his mouth. Agitation had him breathe heavily, but on top of that, the polyjuice potion was wearing off at last. "I see how I can no longer talk to you," he rasped in frustration, and it was his own voice that left his mouth, his own eyes that stared at his _father_. "I'm sorry, but this needs to be done."

Bartemius did not even flinch as the Doctor placed his hands on his temples. He was expecting to be killed. But the Doctor merely sent him memories. Of a danger nobody had noticed. Of a brilliant man everybody feared. Only few, assorted impressions, and yet enough to relay the truth. "I never followed the Dark Lord," he clarified quietly, "I guided him back towards morality."

His entire body shaking, Bartemius stared at his son. "I'm sorry," he repeated hoarsely. A single tear ran down his cheek.

The Doctor stared back. "I have a time machine," he rambled as he reached for his father's motionless hand, "You know, the one I sometimes talked about?"

Bartemius didn't answer.

"Come with me," the Doctor all but demanded as he started dragging his father towards the Tardis' hiding place, "We can save mother and have dinner, just like in the old days."

But Bartemius would not follow. "Forgive me, my son," he whispered at last, his voice so very quiet, and so very sad. "I will be meeting your mother before you do."

When the Doctor noticed the drawn wand, he could no longer stop him.

"Avada Kedavra."

His hearts skipped a beat, and time stopped in that moment.

He caught his father's limp body in his arms, and his legs gave up on him.

He had already lost both his parents so many years ago… but only then did he finally allow himself to cry for the family he had been allowed to be part of.

Bartemius Crouch, husband and father. True to his principles, yet devoted all the same.

**Part 2: Father - End**

* * *

Notes: Stupid misunderstandings, stupid drama :( Even outside the realm of fanfiction, the Crouch family's story is just far too heartbreaking. I want them to go to the opera together again. :(

In any case, that's it for today. Thanks again for reading this far and please keep the reviews coming!


	17. 3: 1974 (2) B

**Part 3: Hogwarts**

Monday update flood! Lots of love to hurricanclaw, Momi123, HaleandCullen and bbfitz! You guys are wonderful!

Also, new plot arc, this time concerning Snape, Dumbledore and, well, Hogwarts in general. So we're back at the beginning again.

**1974 (2) B**

He had been alive for 934 years, he looked like a child, and he was scanning the corridors of Hogwarts with a sonic screwdriver.

Interesting, very interesting.

"What are you doing?" somebody asked behind him, but he was too preoccupied to actually turn around. "I'm reading energy signals, obviously," he replied and followed the trace around yet another corner, "For some reason, residuals are concentrating down that corridor, and I want to find out why."

Footsteps followed his own, "How does that muggle technology even work within Hogwarts?"

"Who said anything about muggle technology?" he answered and squinted as he checked the display, "Even wizards have screws to…drive." He ran a hand through his hair and lost his train of thought. The signal had led him straight towards…a wall like any other.

"But that's…" he heard a soft gasp behind him. Finally, he turned around to look at a pale boy with black hair. "That's what?" he inquired sharply.

"The Room of Requirement," the boy supplied slowly, frowning all the while.

"_Room of Requirement_, eh?" the Doctor pondered as he knocked against the surface, "A telepathically alterable room hidden by magic, yet detectable by conventional science? How very interesting."

"You've been talking about residuals," the boy suddenly spoke in a quiet voice, "Doesn't that mean you just found its traces rather than the room itself?"

Turning on the spot, the Doctor finally took his first real look at the boy. Slytherin, three inches taller and about two physical years older than him, somewhat shy, with obviously at least some background in proper sciences. "Forgive my rudeness," he finally stated and held out his hand, "My name's the Doctor. And yours?"

"Severus Snape." Rather awkwardly, the boy shook his hand. "What year are you in? And what kind of name is _the Doctor_?"

The time lord tilted his head. Oh. He had forgotten about the new name…again. "Well, I used to go by that name," he explained, "Nowadays they call me Bartemius Crouch _Junior_. And as for the year…" He quickly checked his screwdriver again, "It's 1974, apparently." He frowned. "…more or less."

* * *

"Have you never wondered what magic actually is?" the Doctor asked as he flung himself onto the couch with the latest stack of books he'd relieved the library of.

Slightly unnerved, Severus looked up from his studies, "Of course I have."

"With what result?" the Doctor asked as he skimmed the first book's contents.

Not for the first time since knowing him, Severus sighed at his new acquaintance's impatience. "Natural selection," he explained nonchalantly, "The first magical creatures appeared some ten thousand years ago. Magic swapped over to humans after that, so it cannot be a merely genetic property."

The Doctor's eyes lit up at that. "A common mutation?" he pondered.

Severus shrugged. "Probably," he replied, "Maybe caused by radiation of sorts, but _you_ are the expert on muggle science, _Doctor_."

The slight jab was entirely lost on the smaller boy. "Well, that's just it," he replied unhappily, lost in thought, "Magic is unlike anything I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot."

Severus snorted softly and added, "Alternatively, we can always speculate on visitors from outer space."

The Doctor sent his friend a blank look. "Do you have _any_ idea how many alien species visited Earth during that time?" he asked.

And Severus could only sigh. "I was joking, Barty."

"…oh," the Doctor replied, but his expression did not change.

Only fifteen years old, but Severus was brilliant. However, he would have to widen the boy's horizon one of these days. Bounded by a conservative wizard's mind set, his talents would be wasted.

* * *

Notes: Out of all the stuff that happens in this fanfiction, I like that small scene of the Doctor meeting Snape most x3


	18. 3: 1975 (2) B

Short note: The definition of the Dark Arts later on was blatantly made up to fit the flow of the conversation.

**1975 (2) B**

Every once in a while, the Doctor retreated to the Room of Requirement.

Greeted by a warm orange light, he would step inside and discard his robe on an organic pillar as he strode towards the room's centre. "Hello sexy," he would greet nobody in particular while caressing the console fondly, "Do you miss me as much as I miss you?"

Of course, she would never reply, for she was far from real. A mere shadow shaped in the Tardis' image, and yet the closest thing to her. The sight of her never failed to soothe his mind though, even if his hearts ached in longing.

* * *

"Have you ever been craving something," the Doctor asked Severus one evening, "even though it was far out of your reach?" It was not the first time they were up late enough to have the common room for themselves, and hopefully it would not be the last. The wizard took his sweet time in responding, and eventually did so with a bitter grimace, "Of course I have."

Lost in thought, the Doctor heaved a sigh. "I would take you to the stars, Severus," he mused forlornly, "All of time and space would be ours to see, and we could accomplish _anything_."

He had realized quite a while ago how Severus would have made a wonderful companion on this travels…if only the Doctor's own wings weren't clipped. "Are you going to ramble about aliens again?" the older boy retorted quietly, "You're a pure-blooded wizard, you should know better than to hallucinate about such… muggle topics." Suddenly he stood and snapped his book shut, shattering the silence.

It was enough to startle the Doctor out of his reverie, and he stared at his friend. He had hit a sore spot somewhere, but where? Then it dawned on him. Of course…Lily. Severus' heart was aching, as well. He should probably confront him on that, but something else bothered him more. The purity reasoning was new. What had gotten into his friend? "Severus," he called after the boy's retreating back, "I was adopted."

His friend hesitated ever so slightly, but he didn't stop after all.

The Doctor lifted his hand as if to reach for the boy. He did not mind how most people might never understand him, but Severus' sudden rejection actually hurt. "Technically I'm not a wizard at all," he added quietly, unsure whether the other boy could even hear him, "I'm not even human."

* * *

He did not see Severus for a week after that, and he was slowly growing worried. Brooding for a while was entirely alright, but it was as if Severus seemed to avoid human interaction of any kind. Even his roommates could not tell where he went in his free time. Eventually, the Doctor grew tired of asking everyone for directions and decided to sneak up on his friend during his obligatory schedule the next day.

As soon as he had made that resolution, though, a familiar redhead passed him in the corridor. "Lily," he uttered, more out of relief than actual intention.

Slightly surprised, she came to a halt next to him. "Barty," she replied, a guarded expression on her face. Frowning back, the Doctor evaluated her quickly. They had not met often, but their few encounters had been marked by amiable chatter. Just then, though, she was merely being polite. "I'm looking for Severus, quite desperately," he explained, carefully watching her expression, "You don't happen to have seen him?"

If possible, her face grew even stonier. "We…don't talk anymore," she whispered in a very quiet voice, "I'm sorry, I have to go." Without gracing him with as much as another look, she hurried after her friends.

Huffing, he quickly followed her. He was not going to let her off the hook quite that easily. "Lily," he called more loudly this time, "What happened?"

Jogging up to her, he noted how he had alerted the other students this time. Great, a mob awaiting yet another confrontation between Gryffindors and Slytherins was not going to make this easier, but he could barely care less, for she was returning his heated gaze with a teary one. A single sob escaped her, and her friends stepped up in front of her protectively. "Leave her alone," Potter all but ordered, "she's had enough of you Slytherins and your stupid racism."

The Doctor actually blinked this time. Racism – the blood purity again? "If he insulted you, I apologize on his behalf," he announced earnestly, seeking her eyes even through the human barrier, "there's no way he meant to."

The boys in front of her kept glaring, but Lily finally looked back at him. "I know," she cried softly. He regarded her for a moment. Why did this matter so much? Blood purity did not mean anything at all, and he seriously wondered why most Slytherins cared so much about that. Severus, what the hell?

"Look, I'm sure we can sort this out," he offered diplomatically, "I'll talk to him. Are you sure you don't know where he is?"

She slowly shook her head, suppressing another sob. "We haven't seen Snivellus in days," Black replied rather harshly, "make sure to teach him proper manners."

Finally, the Doctor's eyes travelled from the poor, sad girl to the tall wizard in front of her. Sirius Black – he had met his rabid cousin once. "Yes, of course I will, now more than ever," he replied quickly, thinking. "So, well," he added eventually and leant close enough for only them to hear him, "can I borrow your tracing map for a moment?" He carefully watched the Marauders' reactions, and it was quite fun to see anger turning into shock and then back again so very quickly. "I won't tell anybody," he explained, "I'm merely looking for Severus."

* * *

He found him in a dim, unused classroom, engrossed in old literature and surrounded by even more tomes. "Severus," he greeted him weakly as he entered.

The other boy did not look up from the book, but did eventually acknowledge his presence. "Bartemius."

With a soft smile, the Doctor sat down across from his friend. "I'm sorry, Severus," he offered quietly as he sought the other boy's eyes, "I was so engrossed in my own problems that I forgot we all have our own burdens to carry. That does not make your sorrow any less important than mine."

The only answer he got was a small grunt, but he had not expected much more. Rather than awaiting any more words, he looked at the stack of books and was just the tiniest bit surprised to even find them in Hogwarts: literature on the Dark Arts.

Curiously, he picked up a random volume and began skimming its contents. Unforgivable curses, blood sacrifices and reality distortion. It sounded awfully cliché, but the last topic got him reading.

"Are you truly interested in this, Bartemius?"

Blinking, he looked up to find his friend watching him in suspicion. What was he so confused about? He'd witnessed how the Doctor would get engrossed in new knowledge every so often, how was this any different?

"The Dark Arts are very dangerous," Severus continued gravely.

Glancing at the page about selective invisibility again, the Doctor frowned. "This is intriguing enough," he replied matter-of-factly and scratched the back of his head. "I wouldn't mind knowing what makes the Dark Arts so dark, though. I don't see how blood sacrifices and invisibility charms have much in common."

He took Severus' snort as a good sign. "By definition, the Dark Arts are everything outside your conventional textbooks," he explained as if it was obvious, "The dangerous, the forbidden, the untested. The ministry doesn't want its own power over wizards to be endangered, so they ruled out everything potentially threatening."

The Doctor took a moment to mull over those words. "Doesn't that make research itself illegal?" he pondered.

"Not necessarily," Severus shrugged indifferently, "The ministry's morale is as flexible as rubber these days."

As his friend returned to reading with an annoyed huff, the Doctor wondered, not for the first time, if he shouldn't pay more attention to this world's political structure after all – but if he did that…

"And yes, I am talking about your father, too," Severus added as an afterthought, his voice like a knife.

The Doctor met his glare with a blank look. "I know," he replied quietly, "but…I don't want to get involved."

This time, he had earned himself an actual glare. "You're just like the others after all," Severus replied, but rather than angry, he now sounded…disappointed. "The world may burn around you, but as long as it doesn't concern you directly, you're too lazy to even move a finger."

"You don't understand," the Doctor countered at once, "I like meddling. I _love_ meddling, but not…this time."

Clearly, Severus didn't understand the nature of his arguments, but he ended up humouring them just as he had so often done, "Why not?"

Looking up at the dirty ceiling, the Doctor considered his words. "I've…had a vision of the future," he spoke in a voice only barely above a whisper, "and I'm afraid it's going to become reality if I interfere in anything."

Their eyes met once again, and he was strangely grateful to face at least some acceptance. Severus might not understand the gravity of the problem, but he cared enough to accept his answer.

Apropos not understanding other people's problems, he still had one more subject to address…

"Severus," the Doctor said after a while, breaking the silence and forcing his friend to look up once again, "I'll listen if you need me to."

The dark haired boy's eyes narrowed at once. "I don't need your advice," he replied throatily.

"Then I'll force it upon you," the Doctor spoke gently, "because alienating her won't lessen the pain."

By then, Severus was glaring daggers, but eventually, if only a bit, he opened up to him.


	19. 3: 1976 (2) B

**1976 (2) B**

"Would you like to dance?"

He was offering his hand with a very soft smile, but she only blinked in response. Several seconds passed until she hesitantly pointed at herself. "Are you talking to…me?" she asked with wide eyes – although her glasses were probably the main reason she always seemed so timid.

"Of course I'm talking to you, Sybill," he replied brilliantly and tilted his head, "We're not exactly strangers, so why are you surprised?"

Quickly averting her eyes, she tried to hide her blush from him. "I, umm," she whispered hastily, fiddling with her dark blonde locks, "I'm not pretty enough. You should be dancing with Wendy or Dahlia or Lily or…"

She was cut off by him grabbing her hand regardless. "That's no valid excuse, so I fear you have no choice," he grinned as he pulled her to her feet, "you really have no idea how _pretty_ you really are."

Her blush only increased, but she no longer refused dancing with him. He was doing it again, he suddenly realized – he was wooing women for no apparent reason. But he had spoken the truth – she was a wonderful person in her own right. He had only met her a couple of times, and he had greatly enjoyed those. Often lost in her own thoughts, she nearly appeared as aloof as the Doctor himself probably did, but then again, that aloofness had most likely brought her in uncomfortable situations more often than not, and had thus turned her naturally frightful – unjustifiably so. Once he had gotten her to open up to him, though, she spoke of her dreams. Her words were wondrous and sometimes nearly too close to reality to depict mere dreams, and they never failed to intrigue him.

She was a great person, and he felt the least she deserved was having a good time on the rare occasion Hogwarts actually held a Christmas Ball.

"You are a wonderful dancer, Barty," she smiled as they staggered back to her table several songs later, "Thank you."

"Thank you, too," he grinned back, "It takes two people to make dancing fun, after all."

The blush had never left her fact, but it intensified again when she moved over on the couch to make space for him. "I've had a dream about you, you know," she spoke quietly and waited for him to sit before continuing, "about the stars and the universe and…so much loneliness."

She looked up at him coyly, and his own face fell a bit. "I used to be a traveller," he admitted, "but right now…I've been here for a while, and it looks as if I won't be going anywhere in the near future, either."

She offered him a soft, hesitant smile. "Please don't be angry," she whispered, "but I don't exactly mind you staying."

The smile returned to his face. "I don't mind it, either," he replied with a small laugh, "as long as I've got wonderful people like you around."

"You're making me blush again," she commented unhappily, but finally dared resting her head against his shoulder.

With a soft sigh, he moved into a better position for her. He should not be doing this, he silently berated himself, there was no use in getting anyone's hopes up, really. "We might want to get on the dance floor once more before the music ends," he suggested after a while and looked down to find her in state of peaceful tranquil.

"_Your song will end, too_," she replied as she looked up at him hazily, "_not today, nor tomorrow, but when it begins, you will know. He will knock four times. Be careful, Doctor_."

He could only stare, but after as little as another blink, her gaze had cleared up again. "I'm sorry, what were we talking about?" she asked in a flustered voice and looked away again. "My attention wandered off again," she added, "I'm sorry about that, Barty."

He smiled back at her. "Never mind, that happens to all of us."

He had known she had the potential of becoming a seer, but he had not expected it to develop so quickly. Nor had he wanted to hear a prophecy about himself.

After checking the microphone with four taps, the moderator announced the last songs of the evening.

_He will knock four times._

The Doctor was sure to develop a new paranoia off this.

* * *

Notes: Could not resist. D:


	20. 3: 1977 (1) B

**1977 (1) B**

He had once detected its life signs, but he had never actually discovered the phoenix hiding in the castle – until now, that is. It was a beautiful being, much like the legends said, and so much more.

"You are conducting dangerous experiments, Bartemius."

Shaken out of his reverie, he forced his attention back to the old wizard in front of him. He had been so engrossed in the phoenix's mere presence that he had almost forgotten the reason for his visit to the Headmaster's office – after one long night of experimenting, he had just been too tired to clean up, especially since he had technically not done anything illegal. To all appearances, he had merely been practising transfiguration. How should he have known the groundkeeper could recognize that he had been altering those blocks on an atomic scale?

"I can assure you that I am aware of the risks of atomic fission, professor," he clarified patiently, "however, these experiments are vital to my research."

Dumbledore's eyes lit up all of a sudden, and he watched his student with newfound curiosity. "What kind of research would that be?" he asked kindly.

The Doctor met the wizard's eyes evenly, surprised to see actual interest in them. He had never really spoken to the man in front of him, but here he was, sensing an opportunity to find actual answers. "I'm trying to understand magic on a fundamental level," he replied straightforwardly, "Wizards may take it for granted, but from what I gathered it's not even entirely compatible to physics."

Taken aback, it took Dumbledore a moment to gather his thoughts, "Incompatible in which way?"

"Continuity," the Doctor replied swiftly, "Quantum physics only works on a small scale, but magic behaves much like it, and we can actually see its influence." He could have chosen a better explanation, but he had most likely lost the wizard anyway.

"Magic operates on another plane of existence than physics does," Dumbledore told him thoughtfully, "If what you observed was causing any real paradoxes, we would most likely not be sitting here right now."

The Doctor's frown only deepened. He had not meant to insinuate magic being a threat of any kind, and Dumbledore's argument was a valid one. However, it still bothered the Doctor how he had, in fact, not been able to _rule out_ that it could be somehow malevolent in nature. "Maybe it's just that nobody cast a spell powerful to rip apart this universe yet," he replied unhappily. That would be the worst case scenario, but as long as he could not disprove it, it was still possible, however improbable.

The headmaster opened his mouth at that, but quickly shut it again. He was finally starting to actually _think_ about the Doctor's problem, but most likely…not for long. "I rather like how you approach magic with muggle means, and quite elaborate ones at that," he finally stated in a kind voice, "So allow me to mention a rather dramatic result from the early twentieth century in this context. It has been shown that any sufficiently large formal system cannot be both complete and consistent."

"That's Gödel's first incompleteness theorem," the Doctor replied and halted in his thoughts, "Are you serious about that?" Was a theorem from mathematical logics even applicable _to the whole universe_?

"Also, you cannot prove the truth of a system within that system itself," the headmaster continued, "In other words, there are questions that simply have no answers, at least none we can verify with our limited means."

The Doctor stared at the wizard. Judging from his various magical teachers' reactions to his question, he had expected either a lack of understanding or plain ignorance in this case as well. But this was something new. Dumbledore was in all honesty suggesting him to live with a contradiction in their very existences.

He might be right, though. Maybe there was no answer to a question like that. But as long as he had not ruled out every single other option, he refused to accept Dumbledore's suggestion. "I see what you are implying," he stated at last, neither approving nor disagreeing openly. He simply saw no use in continuing this conversation.

"The Dark Arts won't magically produce an answer to your questions, either," Dumbledore added quietly. The Doctor arched an eyebrow, but did not reply. At least in that respect, he had come to the same conclusion anyway. "May I take my leave, sir?" he asked at last.

Dumbledore nodded slowly and his usual gentle smile returned to his features. "You are very intelligent, Bartemius," he told him, "and even more…unusual, if I may say so. Please mind the big picture on your search for knowledge, that's all I ask of you."

* * *

Notes: Now this is quite an abuse of mathematics. Gödel's incompleteness [theorems] was meant to be only the working title of this fanfiction when I still planned to include more scientific approaches to magic (which didn't work out smoothly in the end). But I eventually left it at that title, not only because Dumbledore used it as an argument here, but also as a bit of an apology for inconsistencies with the canon as well as smaller plot holes (most of which could be explained away, but that would be tiresome for all of us).

In any case, this was a bit of a key moment. Most of the upcoming drama (but also most of the upcoming bromance) might have been avoided if the Doctor and Dumbledore had come to an agreement here.


	21. 3: 1977 (3) B

Monday upload flood: chapters 17-21

**1977 (3) B**

_Magic operates on another plane of existence_, Dumbledore had said back then. And oh, how right he had been. A force strong enough to direct the multiverse could not come from within it. Frank and Alice Longbottom had taught the Doctor to look at the signs, but they ignored the sightings.

His discovery had thrown him into an actual depression, but worse yet, he was alone again.

"You forgot your glasses in the common room."

He had been resting against a tree near the lake when Severus decided to make an entrance. "Intentionally so," he replied in obvious lethargy, "Hello Severus." In spite of the greeting, he never actually looked up at his friend. Instead he kept his gaze focused on Sirius Black who was, at least to his eyes, being followed by a dog-shaped shadow wherever he went.

"Pessimism doesn't suit you at all, Bartemius," his friend commented helpfully as he sat down as well, "I'm listening."

Finally, the Doctor sent him a weary glance. They had been closer once, the two of them, but he rarely ever met him now. He did not feel like being rejected by limited wizards again, and yet… he might grow insane if he didn't voice it at all. "I've been living in this world for four years already," he finally replied miserably, "and I only just found out that it's wrong in its very roots."

Severus arched an eyebrow, "You finally found an answer to the workings of magic?"

The Doctor drooped. "The answer is just another question," he muttered, frustrated how it was always him to make decisions like that, "and the only solution could come up with is…the destruction of the world as such."

They sat in silence after that, both lost in their own musings until Severus replied at last. "I need more details than that, you know," he demanded, hesitating for a moment. "And you should be more careful with your words," he added quietly, "otherwise people might mistake you for a Death Eater." For just the briefest moment, the Doctor's gaze snapped to a dark shadow on the other boy's forearm. Thankfully, this was residual energy rather than a gap in reality, but in any case, it could only mean one thing.

However, he decided not to comment on it…not yet. Severus had probably had a good reason to join the Death Eaters, but the Doctor was not willing to hear it yet. Such a discussion would end in a nasty fight, for there simply _was_ no argument that would justify supporting murderers.

* * *

_Notes:_ Oukay, that's it for today. I'd actually like to upload more stuff at once, but if I tried staying up to date with something, I'd rather not get slapped by 4k words every day. (Though then again, I'd gladly comply if you told me to put up more at once)

In any case, once more thanks for reading so far, and please remember to leave a review :)


	22. 3: 1978 (1) B

Notes: Tuesday upload flood! Lots of love hurricaneclaw and HaleandCullen!  
I'm really glad the multiple storylines don't cause too much confusion and that the arc of suspense I had in mind actually seems to work out...somewhat :B But I'll try leaving more notes on the current position in the Doctor's subjective timeline whenever there's a bigger gap to make things, well, clearer.

(And unfortunately, the happy-go-lucky Hogwarts time is already coming to an end Dx)

In any case, you guys are awesome! x3

* * *

**1978 (1) B**

Dark and bright, slow and fast, moving without doing so. It was beautiful, the Vortex. It felt like home, and, oh, he missed it so much.

"Are you interested in the Hand of Origin?"

Blinking, the Doctor tore his gaze off mesmerizing golden swirls that were caged in a hand of stone. The frustration of finding no satisfying solution to the inherent _wrongness_ of magic had made him search for it in new places. Namely, Knockturn Alley. He would never have suspected discovering the hand of a weeping angel there, though. "Where did you get that from?" he asked as he met the eyes of the vendor, an old man, short but thin. He had introduced himself as Claudius Burke. "Objects as ancient and magical as these travel a long way, my boy," he answered mysteriously as he approached his latest customer, "One should not ask where it came from, but what it can do, don't you agree?"

"I do agree that you're evading my question," the Doctor retorted and returned to stare at the stone hand, "Why do you call it the Hand of Origin?"

"Some legends say that golems were the first magical creatures to ever strive upon this earth," Burke explained, "This hand is a mere shadow of what they were capable of, but still so very powerful." His eyes glazed over for a moment as he slowly reached for the item in question.

"I would not touch it if I were you," the Doctor intercepted him.

Something lit up in the vendor's eyes, and he looked up at his customer sharply before returning to his former smirk. "So you _do_ know about this item," he deduced slyly, "but can you afford it?"

The Doctor frowned back. "I don't intend to buy it," he clarified, "and I do suggest you getting rid of it before it gets the better of you."

Burke released a harsh snort at that. "Why would I get rid of it?" he laughed, "Don't worry about me, I have been in this business long enough. But you…" Calming down at last, he raised an eyebrow at his young customer. "What have _you_ come to this place for?"

With a shrug, the Doctor looked around again. What for, again? "There's something I'd much prefer to the items you're selling," he rambled, "_Answers_, of course."

Again, the vendor's eyes lit up for just the shortest moment. "I can help you with that, lad."

* * *

Ever so slowly, the Doctor's research was finally progressing, but his social life…not so much.

Severus had graduated.

They had spent the last three summers mostly together, but the wizard had had to break with that tradition for reasons the Doctor did not like to think about. He would have preferred hearing his would-have-been-companion's opinion on his latest progress better, but at least Severus had bothered sending a postcard.

Or, more accurately, a strip of paper attached to an unwilling owl.

_"Don't go_ – _S_."

Frowning deeply, the Doctor folded the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He was planning to go on a number of trips during the remainder summer. _Where_ was he not supposed to go, exactly?


	23. 3: 1978 (4) B

_Gap warning: The actual meeting of the Doctor and the Dark Lord belongs into the next section._

**1978 (4) B**

While the first two of his trips had barely given him any new insights, they had been interesting at least. The last and most promising one, however, had turned out to be a trap. Considering he had gotten the contact information from Claudius Burke, he should have been more suspicious, but then again, he had chosen to naively follow the invitation; After several inspiring letters, he had been looking forward immensely to this meeting. But rather than finding a fellow researcher, he had unintentionally walked into a den of Death Eaters – and irritated them quite a lot. Too much, actually.

He had been watching the ceiling for a long time when he heard somebody entering. It was a shabby, dim room, almost claustrophobic. "You have two hearts," a familiar voice spoke quietly.

Too tired to care all that much, the Doctor smiled bitterly. He might have nearly gotten himself killed, but at the very least, he met Severus again… even though was in neither mood nor condition for a heartfelt reunion.

Ever so slowly, he turned his eyes on his friend. He did not bother correcting him about how only one of his hearts was beating at the moment. When he had told him about his origin so very long ago, he had not been willing to listen. "I need to leave," he replied instead and scanned the room wearily. He could not make out anyone else, but with wizards, that did not mean much.

"It's too late for that," Severus informed him dryly, "The Dark Lord has taken a keen interest in you."

With a painful sigh, the Doctor struggled to sit up, but only succeeded with Severus' help.

"You could have just asked me to come, you know," he whispered quietly, "You could have just signed those letters with your own name. I didn't need a farce like that." He refused to look at Severus. While he had found himself in a pitiful condition indeed, it was his former friend's betrayal that stung.

Severus, however, snorted softly at his conclusion. "Those were the Dark Lord's words, Bartemius," he explained, "he seems to share your concern for…reality."

The Doctor's eyes widened. _Eternal and eternally beautiful, the Vortex._ He had seen it when he had come so close to death mere hours ago. Could it be true? Could that mean that maybe, just maybe, the Dark Lord was not only aware of the danger, but could perceive it just like he did? He quickly turned to address his friend on that thought when he saw something new in those dark eyes. "I told you not to come, Barty," Severus spoke quietly.

And the Doctor was taken aback for a moment.

"I disliked your decision not to get involved," the wizard went on, "but I respected it."

The Doctor's face softened at last. Blinded by pain, he had suspected Severus to have misled him, but everything that had happened had been his own doing.

He may have found himself in a tight spot, but recent developments also had their upsides. In the midst of madness and darkness, he had found something precious. And he intended not to let it slip away.

Eternal and eternally wonderful, the Vortex.


	24. 3: 1980 (3) B

**1980 (3) B**

Ever so slowly, they reconciled after that.

"You are, by far, the most magical student at Hogwarts, and you could probably defeat most of its staff in a duel," Severus confessed one afternoon when the Doctor had, with a tiny bit of pressure, invited him over for tea. Back in the old days, they had met in the Crouch family's otherwise unoccupied holiday home quite often, but that tradition had slowly died away with Severus' increasing involvement with the Death Eaters. "I took it for mockery when you told me you were neither wizard nor…human," the wizard finished the sentence in a tight voice. It had been bothering him then, and apparently it still was.

"I was absolutely serious," the Doctor replied as he thoughtfully sipped his tea and met his friend's eyes, "about taking you to the stars, you know." He looked back at his tea again, "If only I could."

Severus took a moment to ponder that information. "Then why can't you?" he asked at last.

The Doctor replied with a frown, but in truth, it was the tea lulling his mind enough for him not to show his actual surprise. Back then, Severus would have never asked such a question. He had often taken the Doctor's occasional ramblings about space and time for the illusions of an over-imaginative child. But after witnessing actual proof to those claims, he had eventually started paying more attention.

The Doctor grimaced at the memory; usually he could convince others of his credibility under less painful circumstances, but then again, he usually tried harder, too. "My…companion," he replied with a longing gaze out of the window, "I lost her in 1994, and so I'm stuck on the slow path." He blinked as the words left his mouth, for he had never actually phrased it like that. It made the truth sound ghastly simple, so why did he still feel numb talking about it?

"The slow path, huh?" Severus mulled in response, "You live in this world only so you can run away from it?" The Doctor froze as he noticed his friend's austere expression. "You'll just…leave everything behind?"

There was something else besides anger hidden in Severus' eyes, something he would never dare phrasing, but it charmed a soft smile on the Doctor's lips. "We still need to save the world, Severus," he reminded him, "I hope you haven't forgotten that."

A snort escaped his friend's mouth in that moment, and the heavy atmosphere finally started vanishing. "I am less easily distracted than you are, Bartemius," the wizard countered in a slightly less sombre tone than before, "Make sure not to forget your promises."

The Doctor replied with his eyes fixed on his left forearm, "I would never dare to."

On the same day he had accidentally reunited with Severus, he had found out how the Dark Lord himself was chasing the same goal he was after; the wondrous being that was Voldemort, too, had seen the signs, he could feel the cracks, and he was fearing for reality just as much as the Doctor did.

He, too, was trying to save the world, but in his own unique way. He was fighting ill-cast magic by killing their casters, and he left a bloody trail in his wake. It was a way of dealing with the problem, the Doctor had to admit that much, however it was not one he could stand for.

Severus had never cared much for the scars in the reality; he had joined the Death Eaters out of his personal belief in natural selection and an enormous amount of hatred for his muggle father. Walking the bloody trail after his lord, though, had made him reconsider – especially when he had, by telling the Dark Lord of the prophecy he had overheard, involuntarily endangered his childhood friend Lily. Their friendship had ended after that fateful confrontation in 1975, but he had never stopped _caring_.

In quiet understanding, both Severus and the Doctor swore to end the Dark Lord's killing spree, yet their approaches differed greatly. One decided to deceive whilst the other chose to persuade. Both saved many lives that way, but only one of them was thanked for it.


	25. 3: 1994 (7) E

_Tuesday upload flood: Chapters 22-25_

_Gap warning: Realities collapsed in August 1994 (the process spanning 1994(1) to 1994(6)) _

**1994 (7) E**

After all that had happened…he could appreciate the world's colours again.

He had been imprisoned and tortured.

He had been betrayed and heartbroken.

He was not alright, but he had survived.

He had seen reality end and undone it.

He had never intended to stay in the wizarding world any longer than this, and still…he could not turn his back on it. Now that his wings had regrown and reality itself was no longer in grave danger, he finally returned to appreciating it.

_Magic_ had stopped defying time and space, thus he had stopped abhorring it, as well. It had become a world as intriguing as so many others, but he could not yet leave it on its own.

He still had to help a friend in need and, maybe even more importantly, he had to make sure to keep said friend off the wrong path.

If he managed that, the wizarding world would prosper, for the Dark Lord could give them so much more than fear and terror. But before that, he had to recover his friend's body. Regardless of the threat he might become, he would otherwise be caught between life and death for all eternity. As long as he could help it, the Doctor would never let that happen. Not to anyone, but especially not to someone as brilliant as _him_.

Regeneration was going to be a nasty process, though. His own experiences in that field had been painful enough, but there were only few known methods compatible to humans which could be applied even in this case. Barely two of those had an acceptable chance of succeeding without leaving mental scars on beings as energetically sensible as wizards.

One, brewing a very intricate and time-consuming potion that demanded a number of more or less barbaric ingredients.

Two, creating a Philosopher's Stone off the lives of a thousand humans.

…and he would not even tell the Dark Lord about the latter.

He would stay for a bit longer, then.

Unfortunately, his current state of disgrace kept him from traveling to Knockturn Alley for ingredients. Instead, he decided to turn to another acquaintance of his whom he had barely seen since his days at Hogwarts. He was almost certain he would be greeted with yet another wand in the face, but well…reunions would be boring otherwise, wouldn't they?

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his beloved brown coat just because he _could_, the Doctor all but bounced down a street of brick houses that almost made him feel nostalgic. He came to a halt in front of a particular door, and it was quickly pulled open before he could even knock.

The Doctor could not help grinning. Considering he had never quite gotten rid of the occasional twitches he had developed during imprisonment, it was probably quite a scary expression, but, oh well… Just as expected a wand was pointed at him, yet only discreetly so – primarily, he was greeted by the stern expression of an old friend who had not looked quite as bitter the last time he had seen him. "Hello Severus," he all but hummed, "did you miss me?"

Their eyes locked for a moment in silent communication until Severus offered a quipped reply. "Bartemius."

His voice was dry and showed neither joy nor hatred, yet the Doctor had not quite expected him lowering his wand so soon. "Come on in," the potions master spoke, "Dumbledore wants to talk to you."

It took the Doctor a moment to overcome his surprise and follow his former friend inside the house. …and it took him much longer to stomach the professorship he was offered there.

* * *

"Only a few weeks ago, when I stepped into my wardrobe, I could no longer move away from it," Dumbledore told them in quite an amused voice, "I tried a lot of spells, but I was stuck in one place. And then, as soon as it came, I stepped out of the wardrobe as if nothing had happened." As he looked around, meeting Severus' apparent indifference and Bartemius' twitchy scowl, his own look darkened ever so slightly. "I admit that I was never more afraid in my entire life," he continued at a low voice and sought the eyes of the man he had sent away all those years ago, "Words cannot convey my gratitude, Bartemius."

The Doctor's gaze didn't soften, but he did grow more restless. He could think of a number of replies to that statement. _You knew and you did nothing. You refused to listen. Have you ever been to Azkaban? _And, truthfully, those thoughts confused him. When had that happened? He had never consciously noticed until that moment how treading the slow path had so very obviously turned him more humane in one unfortunate respect: he had grown more resentful. He had saved the world oh so many times, yet words of thanks had been rare. He had, at one point, accepted publicity's wretched views on the truth of his and the Dark Lord's quest. They had not needed to understand, but if he truly wanted his lord to live happily ever after, working on his image might not be a bad idea after all.

And the first step to that was…letting go of that annoyingly humane resent. "Do you know what happened that day? What caught you in the wardrobe?" he offered in quiet acceptance, "Realities were colliding, about to crunch everyone and everything." He took a deep breath, struggling to keep neutral in the face of that day's memories. "It was a narrow victory," he explained in a strained voice, "We've all known for so long, but it had to come as close as this. The collision had already started. People died." He closed his eyes and forcefully released another breath. He would not mention how he would have taken action much sooner if he had been able to. Of how he had been desperate enough to acknowledge the inevitability of everyone's imminent doom for one long, horrible moment.

Dumbledore knew much more than he let on anyway. He had noticed reality changing when the Doctor had saved it, and he was informed enough to put one and one together.

"I should never have doubted you," Dumbledore stated softly, "Neither your benevolence nor your knowledge. However, your childlike appearance _had_ me fooled."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow as he recognized a playful spark in the wizard's eye. "That was an accident," he clarified warily, "I'm older than you are."

He heard a low grunt from Severus' direction, but Dumbledore simply nodded with a thoughtful expression. "I gathered that much," he mused, "I could learn a lot from you."

So the wizard _had_ read the stray thoughts the Doctor had laid open in his mind. "What is this really about?" the time lord asked at last.

Dumbledore sent him a sad smile. "The problem was solved, but the conflict remains," he explained, "Wizards still attack others for their blood purity. People still fear for their lives, and even more so, for their children." The spark returned to his eyes as he finished his speech, "Right now, I am desperate for someone to teach these children how to defend themselves, and I can think of nobody more suitable for that position than you, _Doctor_."

A heavy silence fell.

It was not that bad an idea, the time lord pondered. If he already had to wait another year, he might as well spend that time on something useful. But then again, that unexpected offer posed a risk in several aspects. Asides from the obvious, it meant siding with the enemy to a certain degree, and the Doctor was not sure how well the Dark Lord would take to that.

"Restoring your reputation won't be easy," Dumbledore continued carefully, "but it can be done."

The time lord's mouth twitched. "I never asked you for that," he retorted a bit more harshly than intended, "I've been banned from England since 1879. It's the _Dark Lord's_ reputation I care about."

Something sinister flickered across Dumbledore's face and the Doctor briefly wondered whether he should have relayed more information. Severus had probably told his employer about the nature of the connection between the Doctor and the Dark Lord. But even so, the wizard would not understand Voldemort's true importance. Dumbledore had fought him too fiercely for that. He had made too many sacrifices. If anybody could ever convince him of the truth, it would not be the Doctor, but rather the Dark Lord himself.

"When I stood at the edge of the Void," the time lord spoke firmly, if quietly, "when my hearts beat so differently it _hurt_, I was about to destroy magic itself so at least something would be saved. It was not your voice that saved me from insanity then, Dumbledore, it was his. I am loyal to the Dark Lord."

There was nothing else to gain from this visit, and thus the Doctor rose from the chair.

"Have a good evening, gentlemen." Before leaving, however, he took one last glance at the men who could have become greatly helpful to him.

"My offer still stands, Doctor," Dumbledore stated quietly, "If you do not wish to be rehabilitated, then I can find someone to lend his face to you."

With an indignant huff, the Doctor disapparated.

Dumbledore was either too cunning or too foolish for his own good, but the time lord could not tell which one it was as of yet.

He would find out soon enough, though. He had originally come for ingredients, but apparently, he might be able to just steal them from Severus' stock in Hogwarts.

* * *

Back then, Alastor Moody had been amongst the first to publicly discredit him.

The Doctor had never known where the alleged proof of him torturing Frank and Alice had come from. Looking back now, he feared that it had simply been the paranoid monstrosity known as wizard's logic that had gotten him to Azkaban. They had discovered his Dark Mark, and they had declared him guilty per default.

_Even his own father._

And, so very sadly, wizard's logic worked like that.

Just as the Dark Mark had easily proven the Doctor guilty to Moody's eyes, so did a mere sentence from Dumbledore's mouth clear his name, even if not entirely so.

As an auror in retirement, Moody still bore the scars of the old days. He was still in shape to fight, or to teach for that matter, but apparently he had outright refused Dumbledore when he had asked him years ago. Allowing somebody else to teach literally in his stead, though, seemed less of a problem. Nowadays, he rarely ever met anyone, and that seclusion would prove quite helpful to their plan. "Make sure to teach them something useful," Moody had grunted before closing the door on them again once he had given them a handful of hair, "Dumbledore, you better know what you're doing."

* * *

"Physics," he told the class, "Physics, physics, physics."

Looking around, he noticed only blank stares on the students' faces. "Do you know why it is so important?" he asked around, "Do you even know what it is?"

Again, nothing. He sighed. Wizard's logic at its best. Eventually, though, a girl in the front row raised her hand. "It's the science of natural phenomena and their effects, professor," she replied, "it tries explaining how things work and how to predict an object's behaviour."

"Thank you, Granger," with a slow nod and a huge limp he moved to the board, "So why should we care about it?" Scribbling the words, he brusquely cast the spell, "Periculum Revelio!"

Nothing happened, except for a bright pink light that swirled around the gremlin that had used to peacefully sit in the corner. Today, however, they had found it caged and raging. "The danger recognition spell," the Doctor explained, "it will tell you of the curses and presence of wizards and magical creatures adversary to you." He pointed his wand at the rampant gremlin. "Finite incantatem," he spoke and the creature calmed down at last, "As we just found out, the creature was under the berserk curse. I cast it on him this morning."

The class waited in anticipation silence as he freed the poor being. "So what does that have to do with physics?" he asked them and limped back to the front of the room, "Most happenings in our world can be understood as applied physics – even magic."

The classroom erupted in whispers, but a good stomp with the wooden leg served well enough in silencing them. "However, the danger recognition spell never told you about the booby traps scattered throughout the room," he explained and earned himself several incredulous stares, "nor about the sleeping gas."

As if on cue, the first student fell asleep.

And the Doctor grinned.

* * *

"Your teaching methods are very...unconventional," Severus commented, "the students might confuse you with a muggle."

"I was told to teach them self-defence," the Doctor replied in Moody's grumpy voice, sounding even touchier that way, "the first step to that is recognizing the danger. No matter if wizard or muggle or _anything else_, everybody can cause and reply to aggression."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Everything else, huh?" he repeated in his usual dry demeanour, "Well spoken, _Alastor_."

* * *

As he took another hasty gulp of the polyjuice potion, the Doctor tried not to let his irritation show too much. At least he succeeded in not glaring anyone down – but mostly because he could not decide on who would deserve it most.

Igor Karkaroff or Bartemius Crouch Senior.

The Triwizard Tournament, what a farce. It was yet another detail Dumbledore had failed to let him know about before hiring him, much like the involvement of two men the Doctor had rather not met again…at least not so soon. But something else bothered him much more than that: these were _children _placed in terrible danger, just because they _could_.

He had read about those brutish tournaments during his own stay at Hogwarts, and he been grateful to find out the tradition had been stopped in 1792 after a number of unlucky deaths. Back then, there had only been three participants. This time, though, there were _four_. Asides from the questionable nature of the tournament itself… The Goblet had been played with, and he could not yet tell how…or why, for that matter.

"We must let Harry Potter participate," Bartemius Sr. announced, "Even if he did not do so on his own, a binding contract with the Goblet has been signed."

"Contract or not, he can just forfeit in the very beginning," the Doctor shot back, "there are higher powers at work here. No average wizard can confound the Goblet like that."

"It seems like you put an awful lot of thought in that, _Alastor_," Severus commented, and the Doctor could hold back his glare no longer. "It is in our best interest to keep Harry Potter alive and well," he retorted angrily, "I thought we all agreed on that."

* * *

"Why do you want the boy to grow stronger so badly?" the Doctor asked Dumbledore later that night. He had come to the headmaster's office because of pressing news, but he wanted to find out why his opinion on the tournament had been overruled first.

Looking up from his work, the wizard sent him a weary smile. "He will need to eventually," he replied, "Neither I nor you can always be everywhere, Doctor. There is a very real chance we won't last long enough to give him all the time he needs." He had met Dumbledore every so often throughout the years, but the time lord had never seen him this tired. "You of all people should know that," the wizard added and motioned for the Doctor to have a seat, "The trap is obvious, but so is our protection. Whoever manipulated the Goblet will make an appearance eventually. Until then, we need to guard Harry more carefully than ever."

With a soft sigh, the Doctor limped towards the chair at last. He hated putting the child in unwanted danger, but Dumbledore's arguments were well-founded, too. Harry Potter might not become the most brilliant wizard of the century, but an unlucky fate and an enormous amount of courage had indeed made him attract many kinds of danger.

"I must apologize on Severus' behalf," Dumbledore suddenly spoke, but did not go on.

The Doctor blinked. "I did that once, too," he reminisced with a soft smile, "a very long time ago." Honestly, he was surprised Dumbledore had not doubted him. The Doctor had never told them how he had only accepted the teacher's position because he still had almost a year to waste anyway. However, he had made his allegiance more than clear, and under those circumstances, suspicions like Severus' should have come naturally. Still, he more than welcomed not having to justify himself every five minutes. "I analysed both the Goblet and the piece of paper with Potter's name on it," he offered plainly, "out of all recent traces, one struck me as particularly odd."

At once, Dumbledore's demeanour changed – he was on alert again. "Which would be?" he asked.

"It's the wand used to alter the Goblet," the Doctor explained with a slight grimace, "It once belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange." He normally would not be able to recognize a wand's owner by reading a spell's energy signature, but, for better or for worse, that particular wand had given him quite a bit of trouble when its residual energy had kept one of his hearts from beating for nearly a day.

He had Dumbledore's full attention now, and he could not help but ask, "Can you tell for sure that she is still imprisoned in Azkaban?"

Their eyes locked for a very long moment. "I will have it checked at once," Dumbledore replied at last, "Thank you for informing me."

* * *

No illusion, no polyjuice potion. She was in Azkaban, and according to Dumbledore's sources it was _definitely_ her. Somebody else had used her wand on the Goblet then, but that led to another problem: ever since her imprisonment in 1981, her wand had been kept in the same locked room as his own, safely within the ministry's walls. That room had been examined, too, and her wand had never left it.

So where was the connection? How was this even possible? Both Bellatrix and her wand were locked away, so the only logical explanation for her to be free in this timeframe was that she had come from another.

He did not like that conclusion at all. What matters could be pressing enough for him to even consider taking _Bellatrix Lestrange_ to the past? As of yet, he had no way of telling, but…he doubted her time in Azkaban had made her a less cruel person.

"Dumbledore, the danger is still very real," he spoke, "we need to be on the lookout for her."

* * *

_Notes_: And this is a really strange place to leave off, but that's it for today.  
Slowly, the puzzle pieces are coming together - even though the most important parts are still left to the upcoming arc.  
Now this is me being sappy, but I noticed last night yet again how much this cruel monstrosity of a fanfic has grown onto me. And, as such, I'm really glad I can share it with you guys :)  
So thanks once more, and, as always, reviews are more than welcome!


	26. 3: 1995 (2) E

Wednesday update flood!

Many thanks to Doctor-MiniTesla for reviewing!

Gap alert: Bartemius Crouch Senior died in 1995 (1)

**1995 (2) E**

Harry Potter was approaching him.

Unlucky, brave Harry Potter.

With some courage and only a tiny shove in the right direction, the boy had defeated a dragon. With some compassion and only a tiny shove in the right direction, the boy had come out of the lake more than victorious. With some instinct and painfully bad timing, the boy had stumbled upon the Doctor when nobody should have.

"What happened?" Potter asked as he quickly stepped closer, his wand alight, "Are you hurt?"

The Doctor kept staring at the tree in front of him. He was probably lucky the boy, unfamiliar to his true appearance, mistook him for one of the tournament's spectators. He just wanted him to leave. "I'm always alright." Anti-apparition wards. At the foot of the tree, he had dug a grave to bury Bartemius in, but his father would have deserved so much more than that. A single tear ran down his cheek.

Slowly, Potter retreated. But he did not leave. "I have seen you on the night of the World Cup," he spoke, "and also, in my dreams."

With a ragged breath, the Doctor forced himself up to his feet again. Never caring about how the boy was pointing a wand at him, he drew his own and flicked it. A single white calla lily grew on top of the grave.

"You're with the Dark Lord," Potter spoke quietly, but his timid voice made it sound like a question. The Doctor tiredly looked back at him and returned the wand to his pocket. "Do you know the pain of losing everything over and over again?"

The boy took another step back, and his hand trembled more fiercely. "I lost my parents to your lord," he all but spat.

Facing the grave again, the Doctor released a silent cry. "So did I."

For a while, they stood in silence.

"What happened here?" Potter tried again. He did not lower his wand, but the venom had left his voice.

The Doctor, however, did not dare phrasing an answer. Instead, he met the boy's eyes again. "If you could meet your parents," he asked tiredly, "what would you tell them?"

Clearly, Potter was taken aback, but the Doctor's obvious grief slowly got to him, as well. "I would tell them…" he replied quietly and dropped his wand hand at last, "…that they are wonderful."

A strange thought ran through the time lord's mind then, as random as it was both generous and cruel, and yet he ended up extending his hand to the boy. "Do you want to?"

It might not be part of the plan, and it might not even be a good idea, but it felt like the only thing he _could_ do at this point.

This was the night when the Doctor took Harry Potter running.


	27. 3: 1979 (1) F

**1979 (1) F**

"They look happy, don't they?" Harry asked. The boy was close to tears, and sardonically, it helped the Doctor dealing with his own demons.

"Barty," Lily greeted him with a soft smile, "I haven't seen _you_ in a while." She took a closer look at the time lord, "And my, you've…grown."

"I accidentally grabbed the aging potion instead of the toothpaste this morning, never mind that," the Doctor replied with a sly grin, "It is good to see you." As a matter of fact, though, he did not see her all that well. He had forgotten how incredibly blurred the past been.

"Are you here for the final sale, as well?" she asked meanwhile and frowned a bit, "I don't think a Shooting Star could quite compare to your Nimbus 1001, now could it?"

He blinked, only slowly remembering just where the Tardis had taken them. After the company's insolvency in 1978, Universal Brooms Ltd. had held a final sale in early 1979. Considering poor, gentle Cornelia had always been generously providing him with the latest broomsticks on the market when he had still enjoyed Quidditch, he had only taken vague notice of that particular sale upon hearing of it so very long ago. Now, however, he had seen a very real purpose for coming. "Actually, I'm here with a friend of mine who, err, always wanted a Shooting Star," he explained and shoved the still petrified Harry forward, "Lily, meet…Harold. Harold, meet Lily."

The boy stumbled forward and did not utter a word. The Doctor frowned at the ghastly expression his face. Maybe he should not have been as straightforward after all, but thankfully Lily quickly corrected that mistake. "It's really nice to meet you, Harold," she spoke and held out her hand, "Are you a student at Hogwarts? I don't think I've seen you when I went there."

The Doctor was worried, but the boy had finally recovered his voice. "I haven't been there long," Harry replied slowly, "but I've heard a lot about you." With a shaky yet honest smile, he shook Lily's hand at last. "Really, I'm…honoured."

She looked a bit confused, but laughed it off, "Make sure not to follow my example, then. We really broke more of the school rules than we should have."

Harry replied with a laugh of his own, "I'm not too good with those rules, either."

The boy had finally adapted to the new situation, and the Doctor grinned slightly. "Do you two mind staying here for a moment?" he told them, "I better hurry in getting that broom for Harold." Before they could even blink, he had already reached the actual queue.

Quite by chance and half a lifetime ago, he had overheard how the Potters had bought a broomstick at that final sale. Honestly, he had never expected to use that particular piece of information ever again, and yet it had eventually enabled the boy to have some actual private moments with his parents.

As he waited in the horribly long queue, glancing over to Lily, Harry and soon also James every once in a while, he wondered if he shouldn't have pondered this over more thoroughly. Bringing the boy back to the past might both help and harm him. Actually, it was a risk to the timeline itself, but Harry Potter had, at one point, experienced time travel before.

The boy may bend the rules every once in a while, but he was definitely not stupid.

* * *

"The Shooting Star may be slightly less ergonomic," the Doctor observed in surprise as he pocketed the screwdriver and returned to the small group, "but its technical specifications still live up to modern standards." He would have given them more time, but he'd eventually succeeded in purchasing the item and Lily had looked out for him just a moment ago.

"I told you that years ago, but you were just too infatuated with your latest Christmas present," James replied with a good-natured grin. "Bartemius," he greeted as he shook the Doctor's hand, "The aging potion actually makes you look like less of a brat, you know."

"And you're more polite than ever, James," the Doctor replied pleasantly, "So how is life as newly-weds?" If he remembered correctly, he should have already congratulated them in the original timeline, but he had only rarely met them after that.

"Well, it's been…busy," James spoke rather carefully, "Things change a lot once you leave Hogwarts. Make sure to enjoy your time there." He addressed both his old and new acquaintance, but his gaze rested on Harry.

"I wouldn't dare not to," the boy replied with a smile. He looked happy enough, but his eyes told so much more than that.

The Doctor arched an eyebrow. "You told them, didn't you?" he realized with a soft sigh, but didn't wait for anyone's replies. Harry's sheepish expression was answer enough. "Would you like to take this conversation somewhere more private?" he continued and motioned towards the store's exit, "Chatting over a nice cup of tea, how does that sound?"

* * *

"You know, I've been considering naming our child Harry or Harriet if we ever had one," Lily said as both the Doctor and James spoke the necessary warding charms around the Crouchs' holiday home, "And suddenly, you're sitting right next to me." Harry awkwardly reached for her arm in silent consolidation.

"Does this mean what I think it does?" James asked the Doctor quietly as they both watched the scene from a distance.

"I'm sorry, James," the time lord replied quietly, "I really am."

The wizard fixed him in a hard gaze, "Is that why you're here now? To _apologize_?"

With a sigh, the Doctor looked back at the living room's remaining two occupants. "I'm here because of Harry," he explained, "He missed you, so I took him here because I _could_." He left out the true reason that had led him here, but he did not want to think about it, anyway. Meddling in other people's affairs instead was so much less exhausting.

"In coming here, you've risked rewriting history," Lily pointed out at last, "Bad things happen to wizards who mess with time, Barty."

"I'm not a wizard, Lily," the Doctor corrected her without explaining anything, "Messing with time is the least of our problems." She had basically scolded him for coming, and yet he could not help noticing how she was holding onto her son's hand so very tightly. "I fear that I cannot undo what will happen eventually," he continued quietly, "but, at the very least, I can offer you some time together."

He wished he could have saved them the first time around, but he had failed in spite of trying – because their untimely demise was, just as he had known but never wanted to acknowledge, a fixed point in time. While he had not intended for them to find out that he had, indeed, brought their son from the future, their discovery would ultimately…change nothing, no matter how much or how little they knew. It would only make things harder on them eventually.

Lily met his eyes and smiled at last, "Thank you."

* * *

For the time being, he had left them to their own devices and decided to reminisce, as well. Striding down the hallway, he noticed an old family portrait. Well, strictly spoken, it had only been taken a year ago in linear time, but to him it felt like an eternity.

Both Cornelia and Bartemius were still alive in this time. Theoretically, he could talk to them once more, but…he had already caused them enough pain.

"Barty, did something happen to them?"

Tearing his gaze off the picture, he turned to see Lily smiling gently, just as she always did. "Nothing at all," he lied with a smile of his own, "same old life, nothing new." She had probably taken notice of his mouth's occasional twitching by then, but he was not willing to burden the Potters with even more unwanted knowledge. Instead, he took a long glance at her and finally asked, "How are you?"

"I'm…" she replied, but hesitated, too, "I'm afraid, of course." He had known she would be, but he had not expected her admitting as much.

By the time he had come up with a useful response, James had already joined them and placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "I would ask you not to talk about vital details of the future to anybody else," the Doctor spoke, "not because it might disrupt time, but rather because it will give you a lot of trouble."

Both nodded in silent determination, but he felt the need to phrase an additional offer. "Actually, the knowledge itself will make your lives more difficult already," he explained with a slight grimace, "Considering I am responsible for that, I can obliviate you now, if you choose to."

He watched their expressions very closely as they shifted from surprise to resignation. "We're living in harsh times, and I often wake up to wonder if we'll even survive them," Lily spoke ever so gently, "Knowing that at least our son will is more consolidation than I could ever hope for."

* * *

They were Lily and James Potter. Loving parents, forever remembered.


	28. 3: 1995 (3) G

_Wednesday upload flood: Chapters 26-28_

**1995 (3) G**

"They bought that broom for me," Harry uttered as he tightened his grip on his souvenir from the past, "a broomstick for their unborn child."

"And they were able to give it to you," the Doctor added helpfully and wondered what to do with his own Shooting Star, "they cared even then."

Harry only sniffed in response. The two of them had landed in 1995, but the boy did not move from his sitting position at the console until the Doctor all but forced a chocolate bar in his hands. "You still haven't told me your name," Harry spoke quietly and finally fixed his gaze on the time lord, "You say you're not a wizard, but you're with Voldemort and you knew my parents and you travel through time just because you _can_."

With a soft sigh, the Doctor sat down next to him. "We met under bad circumstances," he admitted softly, "so let me try again. I'm the Doctor, I'm an alien, and I usually spend my days travelling through time and space unless I get stuck in Wizarding Britain in 1973."

He could feel the boy's eyes on him again. "…travelling through space, as well?" Harry repeated at last.

"All of time and space, yeah," the Doctor replied and looked up again, as if expecting the Tardis' ceiling to mirror the universe's glory – actually, in a way it did. "We could go anywhere, if you want to," he added with a soft smile.

Harry choked slightly at the prospect. "My friends need me," he whispered.

"So do mine," the Doctor replied with a soft sigh, "that's why I parked us in 1995 again."

"Your friends…" Harry drawled and returned to eyeing the time lord in suspicion, "Death Eaters. You're Barty Crouch's son, aren't you? The one who went to Azkaban."

"…on proof that never existed, thank you very much," the Doctor cut him off. He did not want to indulge in his personal failures and misgivings, but if he already had the chance to talk to the boy, he could as well get his point across. "Listen, Harry, this is important," he stressed, "I'm not a friend to any Death Eaters, but to the Dark Lord himself…"

The boy immediately shrunk away at that statement.

"…and to you, as well," the Doctor added with a gentle smile. "I tried getting him to leave you and your parents alone, but even time travel cannot interfere with what is meant to happen," he expounded quietly.

"That does not justify supporting him," Harry spoke. He was shivering with fear out of very primal instincts, but reason told him the Doctor would have attacked him long ago if he had only wanted to.

"He was misled and abandoned, but deep down the Dark Lord…is a brilliant man," the Doctor replied in deep thought, "Right now, though, he is caught between life and death – a state I could never leave him in. Resurrection is necessary, no matter what may follow after."  
Looking sideways, the Doctor eventually noticed how the boy stood with his wand drawn again. "Why are you telling me this?" Harry demanded through heavy breaths.

"It's time for you to understand you're literally a part of him, Harry," the Doctor explained with a sad smile, "Not matter what may come, never forget you can influence him as much as he can influence you."

The boy looked at him as if he had grown another head.

"This will hold true before and after, but most importantly _during_ his resurrection," the Doctor added, "I will meet you again after the Triwizard Tournament. I won't force anything upon you, but please…give it some thought. Whether he rises as the brilliant man he is or the cruel murderer he is known as depends on you."

* * *

The term would not last much longer, and so would his stay.

The Potion of Resurrection would be finished in a week at last, but before that, the Doctor still had to oversee the final match of the Triwizard Tournament. He did not particularly mind that duty, but he had truly grown tired of Moody's limp ever since spending that one day in relative freedom.

The three remaining contestants would have to get through a magical maze to the Cup, nothing special or particularly dangerous, but it did mean a lot of walking on his part.

Limping along the side-lines to have a proper overview of the maze, he had just magically dismissed Viktor Krum back to the entrance when he noticed another strange signal.

The Cup had activated, but rather than appearing next to Krum's, both Harry's and Diggory's energy signals had simply vanished from his radar.

Something had happened, but before he had even readied his wand to alert Dumbledore, an unexpected sound alerted him to somebody else's presence.

He quickly turned around to see Karkaroff approaching him, staff repeatedly hitting the ground, and he was grinning like a madman.

_He will knock four times._

The Doctor inhaled sharply. This could _not_ mean what he feared it did.

"The potion isn't ready yet," he ground out and flicked his wand, "You may hate me, Bellatrix, but sabotaging the Dark Lord's missions is not your style at all."

He should have long gone, but nothing happened. Ah, stupid him. Anti-Apparition wards.

"Ooops, you found me, then," his opponent snarled as he prowled closer. Or rather, she. Slowly, but surely, the face of Igor Karkaroff melted into that of Bellatrix Lestrange – just as the Doctor's own polyjuice potion was wearing off at last. "I haven't seen you for ages, Barty," she grinned and licker her lips, "You look…mature."

"What have you done?" he demanded and discreetly reached for his screwdriver. While he needed to hear her story, making sure nothing went wrong with the Dark Lord's resurrection outweighed that option by far.

"Incarcerous!"

With a gasp, he found himself falling to the ground, completely entwined in ropes. "No quick escape this time, boy," Bellatrix giggled and sat down on top of him, "I cannot let you go away."

He had actually dared forgetting her unique demeanour for a while, and his mouth resumed twitching ever so slightly. "We need to be at the Dark Lord's side, Bellatrix," he ordered indignantly, "_right now_."

"Yes," she sang, "and no." She pensively traced the line of his jaw with her finger, "His rise is essential, but so are his orders."

"You don't understand, Bellatrix," he interrupted her and finally reached his wand with his fingertips, freeing himself from the ropes, "the potion takes another week. Reviving him now, and under these circumstances, will – "

"It is you who doesn't understand," the witch snapped back and caught both his wrists in a death grip, "The Dark Lord _needs you_, boy. More than me or anyone else, he needs you, and I _hate_ you for that." She spat onto the ground next to his head. "I never wanted to go back in time, to stray from his side for so long," she ranted with a mad glint in her eyes, "but for this, he _needs_ _me_." When her words finally started making sense, the Doctor stared at her with wide eyes. He stopped trying to wind his wrists out of her grip, but she still kept digging her fingernails deep enough into his flesh to actually draw blood. "I don't care if I need to break every bone in your body," she snarled in his ear, "but on our lord's orders, I will not let you die today."

**Part 3: Hogwarts - End**

* * *

Notes: Quite a dramatic ending to the Hogwarts arc - and we've got one more section to go. As always, thanks for reading and please leave a review!


	29. 4: 1978 (3) B

Thursday upload flood, chapters 29-31. (edit: confused the chapters, stupid me)  
Lots of love to HaleandCullen, hurricaneclaw and bbfitz for reviewing!

I kind of sold my soul when I decided to let this story roughly follow the events from the Goblet of Fire while explaining them in an entirely new light - so, for better or worse, there's still a good amount of drama coming up (which you probably already gathered anyway, since you do have the basic outline of this story by now). And still, I really like the idea of a friendship forming between the Doctor and the Dark Lord under these circumstances.

So here we go: the fourth and last section of this fanfiction, starting off rather dramatically some time after the Doctor finding out about the true nature of magic and the cracks in reality.

**Part 4: The Dark Lord**

**1978 (3) B**

"You are late, Mister Crouch."

The Doctor responded to the dry greeting with a disarming grin. "A wizard is never late nor is he early," he quoted brilliantly, "He arrives precisely when he means to." With those words, he extended his hand to the blond man he expected to be his latest pen friend. "Lucius Malfoy, I presume? I am very pleased to meet you."

After years of research and months of depression, exchanging letters with another person willing to see the wrongness in magic had done wonders to his enthusiasm. Apparently, though, it had not had the same effect on Lucius; the wizard did not accept at once, but eventually shook hands with him, "The pleasure is mine. Please do come in."

He had been excited to finally meet him, but as he was led through the manor, taking in every detail, the Doctor had to wonder if this man was truly as open-minded as his letters had led him to believe. From fearfully loyal servants over ancient portraits to a reserved demeanor, he appeared as a dreadfully conservative wizard. Back then, about a month ago, the Doctor had told Claudius Burke about the nature of his research, using magical vocabulary rather than scientific terms of course. Much to his surprise, the vendor had come up with the names of two wizards allegedly knowledgeable in that field. The Doctor had never received a reply from the legendary Nicolas Flamel, but one Lucius Malfoy had reacted quickly and with surprising keenness.

"I, too, once took notice of the unseen yet fatal conflict between magic and reality," the letter had read, "however I have found this flaw not to lie within magic itself, but rather the ineptitude of the wizards utilizing it. They do not understand how a miscast spell does more than fail to work out in their favor." While he would have phrased it differently, the Doctor had to agree. If every single spell ever cast had ripped a hole in the universe, he would have noticed the truth much sooner; however, he had only vaguely registered a new blur in his vision every once in a while – the reality-splitting traces of charms executed on incomplete thoughts. "How did you find out, Lucius?" he wondered aloud and finally let his gaze wander from the ancient walls to the blond head in front of him, "About the gaps in reality? Even Dumbledore didn't acknowledge them."

Meanwhile, Lucius had come to a halt next to a door. "It will take a while to explain," he offered with a slightly forced smile, "I do hope you brought enough time." He held the door open, but his guest didn't move.

The Doctor's eyes had fallen on a dark patch of residual energy on the other wizard's left forearm, and he silently berated himself for not detecting it earlier. "Does your Lord want me dead, or does he want leverage against my father?" he asked coldly, "Either way, I strongly advise against it." Pushing the door shut again, he all but towered above Lucius, "Also, I demand you to tell me who truly sent those letters."

Lucius' eye twitched in anger, but he had no time to react.

"I told you we should kill him," a new voice announced between hysterical laughers. The Doctor's head snapped around.

"Bellatrix Black," he all but breathed and stepped back.

"It's Bellatrix _Lestrange_ now," she snarled as she prowled closer, "and oh my, what a pretty boy you've become." Leaning dangerously close, she smirked toothily. "But I'm still so very angry with you."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes at her. Lucius' wand pressed against his back didn't exactly put his mind at ease, but at least her words had told him they weren't out to kill him. Which basically meant…that he could take the stakes a bit higher. "Keep your anger at bay, _Bellatrix_," he taunted with a smirk of his own, "I might be more valuable to the Dark Lord than you are." He did certainly not want to become a burden to the Crouch family, so the best way to evade that unlucky fate would be freaking out the enemy's most volatile supporter.

And it worked – Bellatrix's face distorted in anger, much like he had seen it nearly five years ago. "I am his most loyal follower! You are _nothing_!" she shrieked as she drew her wand, _"Crucio!"_

The Doctor ducked away instantly, kicking Lucius in the shin as he did so. "Expelliarmus!" He had not been able to fully dodge her attack, but unsurprisingly, his magic was stronger than hers. He caught her wand with ease and pointed it at Lucius, effectively keeping both of them at a distance. "You call yourself loyal, but you disregard his orders," he observed coldly, "He will not take kindly to that." He knew Voldemort had probably never ordered them not to torture him, per say, but from her outrage and Lucius' momentary fear he gathered that he had still hit another nerve. "Luckily for you," he went on, "I might consider not mentioning that detail to him if you give me the –" Bellatrix never let him finish. With another shriek, she jumped after his wand, but he kept it just out of her reach. Only the sharp pain in his arm made him realize she had thrown a knife in the same motion. "Heresy!" she yelled, "Who would lie to the Dark Lord _may never serve him!_" With another lunge, much quicker and more powerful this time, she snatched the wand out of his wounded hand. Forced to retreat, with his back against the wall, the Doctor comprehended too late he had just lost both advantages he had had and raised Bellatrix's wand with a hand he'd never executed a charm with.

"Stupor!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

He hadn't aimed carefully enough, he realized as his knees went weak.

_"Bellatrix, what have you done?" someone shouted in the distance._

He should have been more careful in general, he pondered as he took vague notice of his body sliding down the wall.

_"The Dark Lord has no need for the likes of him!"_

Stupid Anti-Apparition wards. He feebly tried reaching for his screwdriver.

_"Bartemius…"_

He wouldn't die from this, but that was the worst part. These people would find out. He had to get away.

_"Crucio!"_

Hysteric screams echoed through the hall. The Doctor barely heard them. Something dark and bright and _golden_ had appeared in his field of vision. Eternal and eternally breath-taking, _the Vortex._

_"Bellatrix, you should know better than to. Kill. My. Pets."_

Dark and bright and golden and complex, he missed it so much. Screwdriver forgotten, the Doctor reached out for that brilliant light. Eternal and eternally breath-taking, _the Vortex._

He touched it, and the background noises died away.

_"You're alive."_

He never took his eyes off its brilliant swirls and patterns; eternal and eternally breath-taking, _the Vortex._

"And you're beautiful," he whispered at last.

He clung to that heartbreakingly familiar lifeline, and it pulled him up again.


	30. 4: 1978 (5) B

**1978 (5) B**

He had seen the Vortex, and he missed it so much.

He had spoken to Severus, but his friend had not understood his question.

Where had the Vortex gone?

Had it just dropped by to tease him? To mock him in his weakness?

Several hours passed, and still only one of his hearts was beating when he found himself face to face with the Vortex again.

Several golden swirls, originating somewhere far beyond the horizon, meeting all in one shape before his very eyes. When he had last seen them, though, the Doctor had not noticed how they were bound to a human shape. Dark-clad, pale and snake-like.

"You're Lord Voldemort," the Doctor stated dumbly. He had felt the need to express his surprise, but the Vortex's beauty reclaimed his attention far too quickly.

"And you are Bartemius Crouch Junior," the wizard replied in a surprisingly patient voice.

Carefully, _painfully_, the Doctor got up from his chair to examine the curious being in front of him. "You've bound the Vortex," he spoke in wonder as he reached for the swirls. Rather than energy, they felt like fabric, but that did not halt his interest, "How can a human even do that?" A hand pushed his finger off the Vortex, and it took him a moment to register he had just unintentionally prodded the Dark Lord himself.

"I would be more interested in knowing how a human, a _child_, can even _see_ that much," the wizard replied pointedly, "Or alternately, how he can survive a killing curse."

As he realized it was his turn to be stared at closely, the Doctor blinked in surprise. He liked blaming his lack of attention on his heart beat's drastically reduced frequency, or, in this case, the presence of something he missed dearly. He felt like babbling as he normally would, however…this was a crucial moment. The Dark Lord appeared so much less cruel than the stories had let on, but how much information could he dare disclosing to him?

"I can see the cracks in the universe," the Doctor offered as he met the wizard's eyes at last, "Judging from the Vortex running through you, you should see them, too."

And just like that, the Dark Lord's expression changed from an annoyed frown to a tired smile. "I must apologize for the harsh welcome, Bartemius," he spoke frankly, "As a man of my standing, I need to take certain precautions. However, Bellatrix did not know her place. Please note she has been disciplined adequately."

The Doctor frowned. Merely mentioning the curse sent another jolt of pain through his body, but he had to admit he was intrigued enough to keep listening. With every word he spoke, the Dark Lord sounded less menacing. "If you are still willing to discuss the world's situation," the wizard went on and motioned towards the door, "please join me for tea." Then, for a treacherously long moment, his eyes lingered on the part of the Doctor's chest where one heart refused beating, "…whenever you feel up to it."

* * *

He still had his wand, he still had all his possessions. He was allowed to walk the mansion freely, and he nearly felt like a guest, in any sense of the word.

He could leave if he wanted to.

And it was exactly that freedom that kept him from doing so. He had seen enough to leak names and locations, to cause the downfall for the Dark Lord, but…

As opposed to anybody else, the very same Dark Lord seemed to care for the world on the same level the Doctor did. The time lord had been given the benefit of the doubt, and he intended to return that favour.

"I see you recovered," the Dark Lord offered as a greeting when the Doctor entered the winter garden.

"Somewhat, yes," the time lord replied simply as he strode towards the coffee table and sat down where an unattended cup had already been poured. He tried focusing on the objects strewn across the table – books on various topics, his letters, and also, a wand – but he could not keep his eyes off the golden swirls so close to him. "_Lineage and Wizardry_," he drawled, quoting the title of a random book he had seen lying about just so he could use an actual conversation as an excuse for staring, "I've read that one, but I don't really agree. Blood purity may influence the strength of a wizard's spell work, but the actual quality of it rather depends on his upbringing."

An audible sigh told the Doctor he had probably been too blunt. What had he said again? He pulled his gaze off one particular swirl to meet the Dark Lord's eyes. "However, the correlation is undeniable," the wizard countered firmly, "Muggleborns have shown the highest frequency of poor magical performance."

"Because they don't grow up with it," the Doctor replied simply, "For them, magic is a miracle. They try and they try until they succeed because nobody tells them to be more focused." His gaze travelled along a golden line again. "In a wizarding family, however, you grow up with a certain respect for magic. It's not the muggleborn's fault."

Another sigh called him back to his senses. "I take no joy from killing these people, Bartemius," the Dark Lord spoke tensely, "It's not their nature but what they do that haunts me." He inhaled deeply before continuing, "If I need to kill all wizards to save reality or only a select few, I'll gladly choose the smaller crowd."

The Doctor's eyes widened as he slowly understood the meaning behind the Dark Lord's words and he finally caught an actual glimpse of the man himself rather than only the golden beauty surrounding him. The propaganda for blood purity, the whole wizarding war – in its core, it was not the work of a power-hungry madman, but a desperate attempt to save the world against all odds. The Doctor himself had experienced how people would fail to either listen or care, but he had grown used to it eventually.

"I walked the same path you are treading on," the Dark Lord mused, answering a question the Doctor had not even bothered asking, "In that sense, I'm merely a few miles ahead of you."

Their eyes met for a long moment, and the Doctor took a sip of his tea to gulp down the lump that had grown in his throat. "I would never shed the blood of innocents," he insisted and deliberately left out the part about all the lives he _had_ already taken, "There is always another way."

"Which one would that be?" the Dark Lord retorted at once, but rather than angry, he once more looked tired.

It was then that the Doctor realized something else. The Dark Lord may have walked that path further than him, but he had hated every step he took. He had not seen an alternative, and he still did not.

In eager anticipation of actually meeting the other academic, still expecting it to be Malfoy at that time, the Doctor had seen no need to elaborate on the details of his research in the letters if he would soon get the chance to properly discuss them anyway. Back then, his considerations had been of theoretical nature at best. If he had known he had been writing to the Dark Lord himself – if he had known the Dark Lord's _whole campaign_ was based on that very problem, he would never have neglected writing that letter. His own temporary solution was less practical, but still much more humane.

"A wizard won't do any harm without a wand," the Doctor expounded, "As a matter of fact, that statement even holds outside its idiomatic meaning." Feeling the Dark Lord's eyes on him, he once again wished he would have explained his insights in the letters. "Technically, wizards are humans with enhanced telepathic abilities," he explained, "They can communicate with other living beings through their minds, but they could never actually transfigure an object with that alone. If they can convey their thoughts to someone or something that can, however, magic suddenly becomes possible."

The Dark Lord pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am well aware of the principles of wandsmanship," he spoke irritably.

The Doctor blinked. Of course – he had forgotten who he was talking to. "The wand is the link in the chain," he clarified quickly, "A lack of concentration triggers it, but it's ultimately the wand that causes the rift, or more specifically, the magical fibre within."

Slowly, the Dark Lord straightened in his chair. "Do you have proof for that?" he asked.

"Telepathy does not cause a shift in dimensions, so it has to be something else," the Doctor responded with a shrug, "This theory is based on empirical data, of course, but I have not yet seen a human executing actual wandwork on their own."

He would have rambled on, but the Dark Lord was already continuing his train of thought. "With the current magical society, limiting wand use by law would have little to no effect," he pondered, "we would have to destroy all wands in existence for anything to change."

As he regarded the contemplative wizard in front of him, the Doctor was surprised to have lost his attention already. The Dark Lord had caught on to his theses, and had completely indulged in evaluating the new knowledge. "Even in its current state, the world stands on shaky grounds," he mused thoughtfully, "If we want to keep reality from collapsing, we have to stop the creation of new rifts altogether."

"It comes down to sacrificing magic or lives eventually," the Doctor stated with a soft sigh and sought the wizard's eyes again, "but I would more than welcome a third option."

The Dark Lord looked back at him. "We already established the caster's aptitude as a factor, but maybe it's not the only one," he stated slowly, "Does the phenomenon you observed really apply to _all_ wands?"

The Doctor's eyes widened. He had not even thought about that option.

"Maybe it's not magic itself," the Dark Lord went on, "Magical beings don't necessarily have the same origin. Maybe we can find a special kind of core, say phoenix feathers, that's actually safe to use."

His gaze wandered back to the Doctor who had all but frozen. "This is _brilliant_," the time lord announced in open amazement, "I've been trying to come up with a satisfying solution for _months._" In new-found zest, he jumped off the chair. "I'll get some info from Ollivander right away." He hurried towards the door, but halted midway, turning to see the Dark Lord watching him in mild bemusement. "…aren't you coming?" he asked in confusion before remembering their situation. This _was_ the _Dark Lord_, after all. "Ah, of course you're not," he corrected himself in slight disappointment. "You would make a great companion," he added as an afterthought while bouncing back towards the wizard, "You are _brilliant_."

The Dark Lord frowned at that comment, but the Doctor did not give him enough time to phrase a reply. "I failed to introduce myself properly, so let me try again," the time lord said and extended his hand. "I'm the Doctor, and I have been dying to meet a wizard who actually sees the world."

* * *

"We can rule out unicorn hair, dragon heartstrings and Veela hair," the Doctor offered a week later, "I'm not quite done asking around at Hogwarts yet, but I've seen enough improper spells spoken from such wands."

Acknowledging the information with a nod, the Dark Lord leant back in his chair. "I can say the same for troll whiskers, Kelpie manes and phoenix feathers," he replied.

Carefully, the Doctor crossed those off the scroll he had gotten from Ollivander. "That still leaves Threstal hair, Dittany stalk, Kneazle whiskers and," the Doctor read, "…and a whole lot more, thankfully." With a sigh, he handed the parchment over to the Dark Lord. "Unfortunately, most of these cores are rarely found nowadays," the wizard observed.

"Ollivander's stock covers some of them," the Doctor replied, "but even if I wanted to try causing a rift with them, he would not let me. When I got my wand, I burnt every single one until the one with unicorn hair core spat a rainbow." He had not conducted much research in the workings of magic back then, and it had taken several destroyed wands for him to understand it had been his own subliminal telepathy that had literally set them on fire.

"My wand fitting went similarly," the Dark Lord admitted with a short laugh, "If we cannot rule out these any other way, I will set somebody to it."

"Alright," the Doctor replied and finally leant back, as well. A deep breath and lazy sip of tea took his mind far enough off their latest discoveries to notice something else. "I don't think I've heard you laugh before," he commented and noted yet another thing, "…and I still don't know how to address you, either, _my lord_." He had heard Malfoy using that title, but even if it was the least awkward possibility, testing it still felt strange.

"I chose to be called Lord Voldemort just as you chose to be called the Doctor, _Doctor_," the wizard replied pleasantly.

This time, it was the Doctor who could not resist chuckling, "Touché."


	31. 4: 1979 (2) B

Thurday upload flood: Chapters 29-31

**1979 (2) B**

He was different around the others.

"You were to go unnoticed," the Dark Lord spoke in a voice of pure ice, "not to leave a trail of blood." In front of him, a Death Eater cowered pitifully. The Doctor had never even gotten the man's name. "They saw me, my lord," the fearful wizard exclaimed, terror written in his eyes, "I had no other choice."

A heavy silence settled until the Dark Lord turned his back on the Death Eater with six quiet yet menacing words, "Do not fail me next time."

As he watched the man fleeing out of the room, the Doctor felt both relieved and frightened. Six months earlier, the Death Eater would not even have been able to walk away after that lecture. But then again, if the Dark Lord had just decided to end the war rather than keeping up appearances, the Death Eater's failed mission would not even have been necessary.

However, that did not mean he did not understand the Dark Lord's reasoning. The wizard had decided to become a scapegoat for the greater good decades before the Doctor had even come to Wizarding Britain. Dismissing everything he had built up until that point might do more harm than good, especially since they still had not found a palpable solution. Success or failure might depend on the Death Eaters' support eventually, but even now they had already proven quite useful.

"Doctor," the Dark Lord addressed him at last.

Striding closer to the wizard, the Doctor returned the greeting with a grin, "My lord." Fiddling with his pockets, he produced a small alarm clock from it. "I built the scanner you asked me for," he reported and handed the gadget over, "If you direct the sensor towards an item or creature, it will tell you if it has magical potential, and, if so, whether it's the one we want to avoid."

The Dark Lord inspected the item in barely disguised curiosity, but didn't forget to voice a word of thanks as he tested its functionality.

"I prefer mental feedback, myself, but I figured you might find a screen more intuitive," the Doctor chattered, "Humans sure like their smartphones, but, ah, it doesn't have a touchscreen." He cleared his throat and added, "In any case, it still works as an alarm clock. It's set for 13:37." He arched an eyebrow, but was waiting for a response that never came. Normally, the Dark Lord got many muggle references thanks to his upbringing, but these were lost on him. Oh well, he would be reminded of them again in a few hours.

"You know of impossible things, Doctor," the wizard remarked at last, "I would like to hear of your travels through space and time one day."

Albeit not entirely unexpected, that comment caught the Doctor by surprise. Through the Vortex, the Dark Lord had understood some things about the time lord from the very beginning, but the Doctor had not found out how far that knowledge truly went, for they had never spoken about it.

Although, then again… he might have just given himself away by confusing the era of smartphones by some decades again.

"During those adventures, have you, by any chance, encountered other kinds of magic sufficiently close to ours?" the Dark Lord enquired with another appraising glance at the alarm clock, "A clean kind of magic that could eventually replace the old one with acceptable losses?" He started pacing around the room as he explained, "Earth might be too…infested already for us to even _find_ what we are looking for." Averting his gaze to look at the Doctor, he got to the point at last, "However, your ingenuity leads me to believe that you might even be able to _create_ a solution."

Baffled, the Doctor actually took a step back. The time lord had expected neither praise nor revelation, but they came as quiet a pleasant surprise. "You said yourself you preferred mental feedback in the gadgets you build, so it is not even that far-fetched a consideration," the Dark Lord continued expertly, "Wands work exactly like that after all."

Meanwhile, the Doctor had got excited again. "An artificial substitute for magic…" he mused, "I have seen similar technologies, but nothing _close_ enough." He absent-mindedly scratched his chin. "Coming up with something useful would be a hassle," he drawled in deep thought, "but it's not impossible." After another moment of consideration, his eyes went back to the wizard. "Seriously, your ideas never fail to impress me, _my lord._"

The Dark Lord acknowledged the compliment with a curt nod, but was still preoccupied with his own considerations. "When we first met, you mentioned how I would be a _good companion_," he reminisced, "We have reached much, so I cannot help but wonder, for I am in dire need of an actual companion, as well. Will you join me?"

In a sense, they had been colleagues rather than allies so far – but now, the Dark Lord was requesting his allegiance, and the Doctor did not even need to consider his answer, "I thought you'd never ask."

On that day, he received the Dark Mark. To the outside world, it was a symbol of fear, terror and crimes. But to him, it symbolized the burden the Dark Lord had taken upon his shoulders when he had chosen to fight for the future. It was a burden they both shared. Refusing it might not end their friendship, but nothing was more foreign to him than letting down the one true ally he had found in this world.

* * *

_Notes:_ It's a bit like with the Master, really. The Dark Lord has done things the Doctor really does not approve of, but they are, in a way, too much alike for the latter to bear a grudge. They are working on the same problem, and they are, for once, actually getting somewhere. (Also, there will be an actual explanation for why the Dark Lord's demeanour here differs from what we experienced in the books)

Aaanyway, tomorrow, we'll finally find out what actually happened with reality in 1994, so stay tuned! And of course, please remember to review! :)


	32. 4: 1980 (2) B

Friday upload flood: chapters 32-38 (many short chapters again)

Lots of love to hurricaneclaw and HaleandCullen. Thank you so much for reviewing so regularly! x3

**1980 (2) B**

"I brought cake!" the Doctor smiled as he stormed into the winter garden, but he halted abruptly when he realized the Dark Lord already had a guest. Severus was talking in his usually quiet voice, which rendered it nearly impossible for the time lord to understand any of his words, but the heavy atmosphere was obvious. "I'll just…be back later," he excused himself and turned on his heel.

_"Doctor, stay."_

He took a deep breath before approaching them at last. "Tell me what happened," he demanded.

The Dark Lord did not react at all, but Severus sent him a weary glance. "A prophecy has been spoken."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow. "On what?" he asked impatiently.

Severus opened his mouth, but the Dark Lord's eyes silenced him. Finally, the older wizard's unsteady gaze met the Doctor's worried one. "Your own end has been foretold, hasn't it?" the Dark Lord asked, his voice so much less stable than normal.

_He will knock four times._

The Doctor's breath hitched. He had not needed a reminder of that particular piece of information the Dark Lord should have no knowledge of, but he tried his best not to show his discomfort. "We all die eventually," he commented, "Prophecies rarely tell you anything new." He way lying in that, but what else should he do?

"Doctor," the Dark Lord whispered between heavy breaths, and the time lord awkwardly reached for his friend's hand. He had never seen him in such distress, and he did not even know what to do.

"What will become of the world?" the Dark Lord muttered hoarsely. His eyes went wide as he ran a shaky hand over his face.

"…_if we both die before saving it?_"


	33. 4: 1981 (1) B

**1981 (1) B**

"By the way, I managed emulating magic with quantum physics."

Their eyes locked, and the Doctor added, "Somewhat."

"Can you explain it in words I understand?" the Dark Lord asked, and the Doctor laid out all the details as comprehensibly as he could.

Suddenly, though, they were interrupted by knocking on the door. Both froze in an instant.

Hesitantly, a young Death Eater entered the room – and quickly fled again. He had not quite expected the atmosphere to grow tense within a second. But then again, nobody had told him yet not to knock four times.

After a long silence, the Doctor was the first to recover from the slight shock. "You know…" he drawled, their former topic forgotten, and he could not help phrasing his thoughts. "If I were to apply your reasoning, I would expect to drop dead any moment now," he spoke nonchalantly, "thanks to some stupid accident, or, well, _you_."

He rarely found himself on the receiving end of one of the Dark Lord's genuine glares, and he decided he would like not to repeat that particular experience. "You're not planning on killing me," he went on, "So that leaves an unlucky coincidence that is just so much more likely to arise once I get paranoid enough to suddenly distrust you for no apparent reason." He sent his friend a meaningful look, but the Dark Lord only scoffed. "Stop joking about this matter," the wizard demanded icily, "I will not let you die _on accident_. I will not let you die _at all_."

His words were kind enough, but he had, willingly or not, intonated them as a threat.

"Well, neither will I," the Doctor replied smoothly, "A mere baby cannot kill you, but circumstances can." Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills until the time lord added, "Just leave the boy alone."

When the Dark Lord scoffed yet again, the time lord frowned. He had told his friend many times not to challenge fate itself, but their dispute had gone so far the Dark Lord had not even bothered informing him of the assault planned for tonight.

"You do not _see_, Doctor," the Dark Lord insisted, "It is inevitable."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow. "What is?"

With an exasperated sigh, the Dark Lord changed the topic. "Your quantum magic," he inquired in a slightly strained voice, "Can you build a prototype?"

The Doctor blinked. "Yes," he said simply, "But that's not what we are talking about."

"It is now," the wizard insisted irritably, "Will you do as I ask of you?"

"That depends on whether _you_ do as _I_ ask of you," the time lord replied just as persistently, "Will you leave the boy alone?"

"I must meet him," the Dark Lord countered with a dangerous glint in his eyes, "You of all people should understand."

"No, I don't," the Doctor responded indignantly, "Just lean back, forget that fear for a moment and think this through properly."

The Dark Lord regarded him through narrowed, unreadable eyes. At last, he heaved a heavy sigh, "I must ask you to leave now, Doctor."

The time lord's eyes widened. Throughout everything they had gone through together, this had never happened before. He was being dismissed, just like that? "No, I will not," he replied indignantly, "Now even less than ever."

Again, their glares clashed, and neither was willing to yield. Finally, it was the Dark Lord's cold voice that cut through the silence.

"Know your place, Doctor, just as I know mine."

* * *

It was only the second Halloween Eve he actually got to spend with his adoptive family, but he could not convince himself to enjoy it.

He had never clashed with the Dark Lord like that, and he just could not understand how his friend, his brilliant, wonderful friend, refused to see reason so vehemently.

"Barty, are you crying?" Cornelia asked in worry as she reached over the table to brush his tear away.

He blinked, suddenly back in the present. His mother looked at him in concern, whereas his father averted his gaze with a snort. "Please excuse me," the Doctor announced quietly and stood, "There seems to be something in my eye."

He fled to his room without further notice and held onto his throbbing forearm as he slid down against the wall.

_Inevitable_, his friend had said, but he only now understood the meaning behind that word.

The Doctor might be able to see the flow of time by nature, but it had been the Dark Lord who had actually paid attention to it. With all their speculations on saving the world, the time lord had concentrated on the scars in reality rather than the preservation of timelines – and, as such, failed to acknowledge a point of convergence in the very near future. It was a fixed point in time, as he realized now, but that did not mean he would have accepted it as such if he had just understood it sooner.

The death of Lily and James Potter, the survival of the Boy who Lived and…the fall of the Dark Lord.

Obviously, the wizard had not bothered clarifying the nature of the event that was to come to keep the Doctor from either meddling or suffering…and still, that sudden, horrible loss left him so empty he could hardly bear it.

* * *

Frank and Alice. They had refused to listen, but they had never deserved _this_. "Stop it!" the Doctor shouted in a disturbingly weak voice. "Bellatrix, stop it right now!" Breathing heavily, he tried reaching his wand. This couldn't be happening, but…he had led them straight to them. And all this only because…

The Dark Lord was gone.

From one day to another, the one man who had understood him in this world had vanished from it. They had parted in anger, and he had lost a friend that night. However, the Dark Lord was not truly _lost_ to him.

The Doctor knew the wizard had survived somehow. So did Death Eaters like Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange.

But he had never expected them following him.

The true events that had unfolded on the evening of October 31st had never been made public. The boy had survived, but nobody else had. Beyond that, nothing was known. Thus, the Doctor had decided to turn to his old friends for help. Frank and Alice Longbottom. It had been a nice reunion at first, yet they had soon grown suspicious.

He had just been about to leave, disappointed from the fruitless visit, when the Lestranges had all but run over him.

"Crucio!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Petrificus totalus!"

And the Doctor could do nothing…not in time.

He had been able to keep the Dark Lord from targeting their son, but here he was, frozen on the spot by a restraining curse, and he failed pathetically in trying to protect them from a couple of lunatics.

By the time he finally managed undoing his own restriction, he was far too late.

"Frank, Alice, Neville," he whispered in horror, "I'm sorry."

* * *

Notes: Stupid Dark Lord, leaving like that pfuuuu. But the Doctor wasn't really listening, either :(


	34. 4: 1982 (1) B

**1982 (1) B**

He had had a purpose once.

An important one.

They had been trying to save the world against its own will.

But the Doctor had failed to understand how strongly that will truly opposed them until he was taught several painful lessons.

Everything had spiralled downward.

Losing the Tardis had broken his wings.

Losing the Dark Lord had broken his hope.

Losing his freedom had broken his will.

Azkaban was a horrible place, but what scared him so much more than his surroundings was his own mind set.

He had had a purpose once.

An important one.

And he had grown too bitter to even care anymore.


	35. 4: 1994 (2) B

**1994 (2) B**

He might have been smuggled from Azkaban, but he had once again become a prisoner. Eventually, however, he had bothered escaping the curse.

Only to find the world in shatters.

So many years had passed without him even noticing, and so many additional wounds had been inflicted upon the realm.

His breath hitched.

_Too many scars. _

Realities had started colliding; He was too late.

The rifts were close and everywhere and _wide open_. He had already gotten caught in-between two different universes, painfully so.

Despair was tightening its grip on him, panic beat reason, and he screamed.

He could no longer save the world, not this time. Things had escalated so far his mind barely registered anything beyond _terror_.

But…he was not alone in his pain, was he? He was not the only one who could feel the horrible danger facing them.

All around him, people were screaming, but not for the real reason…but because the Dark Lord was afraid, too. Caught in a dream world, but not quite trapped there, the Doctor had forgotten. About the unspoken promise to bring his friend back.

It had been many years, and the Death Eaters had returned to their old ways in attacking mere civilians. What had happened to the Dark Lord, though? Obviously he had not returned, but he was bound to be _somewhere_.

And with a tiny bit of hope, the Doctor painfully stepped onto a clearing and decided to just _ask the world_.

_"Morsmordre!"_

For a while, he simply stood staring at the pleasantly familiar symbol that was emerging in the sky. It loomed above the forest in its dark and menacing glory, glowing in emerald and golden colours.

However, they probably only looked like that to him.

The golden swirl, so wonderful, did not belong to the Dark Mark he had cast. It was only one faint streak, originating in the far distance and ending somewhere _close_.

His heart lit up with hope once more as his eyes traced the golden line all the way to a boy stumbling through the bushes. Just in that moment, their eyes locked.

And so did their minds.

"_You can get to the origin._"

It was the boy that looked at him, but the Dark Lord's voice echoed in his mind. And just as soon as it had come, the connection was lost within a mere blink.

The boy's eyes widened in fear, yet the Doctor kept staring. What did the Dark Lord mean? What origin? Where?

Another scream rang through the air…and it was a scream the Doctor had heard already.

His breath hitched yet again.

_Of course._ He had been asking the wrong question. His heartbeat accelerated as he turned away from the boy, suddenly sure of his destination.

More important than where to look…was _when_ to look.

He had spent 21 years waiting for her, and he longed for her so much it hurt. Neither wizards nor weeping angels would be able to part them this time. Staggering onward, forward, he discarded the Invisibility Cloak on his unconscious younger self and _ran_. The Tardis had arrived at last, and she was _his_.


	36. 4: 1978 (2) C

**1978 (2) C**

Hiding behind corner, he waited for himself to exit the store. When he was sure not to run into a paradox, he finally strode over to Borgin and Burke's.

"Although, then again," he chattered upon entering to continue a conversation he had held twelve years ago even though only seconds had passed in linear time, "let me take another look at the Hand of Origin."

Burke was speechless.

The Doctor had not exactly bothered appearing young enough to match the wizard's expectation. As a matter of fact, he had not even changed out of the clothes he had been forced upon under the Imperius Curse. It didn't matter.

What did matter was the Hand of Origin – and the one remaining opportunity it represented.

The world in 1994 was too broken to save, but so was 1978. If a wand with a phoenix feather core could rip a whole in the universe, then the phoenix itself had the potential to do so. The problem's roots lay even deeper than the Doctor had feared, but he saw it clearly now. The infestation was not something he could have rectified _in time_, for it encompassed _everything_.

But maybe, just maybe, under the assumption that there _was_ one palpable origin to magic, he could keep the cracks from occurring altogether.

Burke was speaking in the background, but the Doctor did not even listen. He was busy scanning the artefact with a brand new sonic screwdriver and made sure to save all the readings. "Thanks," he announced at last and strode out of the store without another word.

It was time to meet the weeping angels… or at least some Neanderthals.


	37. 4: -10159 D

**10159 B.C.; D**

Just as she always did, the Tardis brought him exactly where he needed to be. Wonderful, brilliant Tardis.

Stepping out, he was greeted by a warm breeze and a lot of greenery. With a giant glacier covering most of Europe, he had not exactly expected to find this climate on his trip to the Upper Paleolithic period. But then again, first known wizardry dated back to Ancient Egypt, so the Tardis had probably taken him to North Africa.

He saw a brilliant sky and a brilliant landscape. It was beautiful.

The roar of an aggressive hippopotamus shook him out of his reverie and reminded him of his mission; he had to find the Hand, or the weeping angel is belonged to. Scanning the area for the recorded energy signature, the sonic screwdriver led him further towards the woods, and there, at the food of a lone palm tree, the stone hand lay peacefully.

It was a bit of an anti-climax, really.

The weeping angel it had once been part of was nowhere in sight, and, truthfully, the Doctor would be surprised if it was. They rarely ever travelled to the past on their own will. Most likely, the relic had been taken here accidentally when the angel had only gotten to its victim after a severe fight that had cost it a hand.

But, just as he had grown physically younger because of a connection of unlikely events, the hand had mutated in the process. It was alive, in a way, but rather than living off shifts in time, it caused shifts in dimension.

That in itself was no problem, for weeping angels had always been sensitive to cracks in reality. Any shift done would be done properly. However, several years from that point in time, other beings would have inherited that strange ability, and only that. Maybe the Hand was lonely, summoning artificial companions because it _could_.

But the Doctor could not let that happen – not in that sense.

"You might be lonely, but you have brought something very dangerous," he explained as he crouched next to it, "I hope you won't mind me doing what I have to do."

He pulled the wand from his pocket and gathered his thoughts.

He would have to do this without causing a conflict with his own time line. He would have to make a subtle, substantial change that would not change anything to the oblivious.

If anyone could do this, it was a time lord.

Thirteen subjective years ago, he had developed a physically possible alternative to magic that had basically equal effects without doing the same.

One last time, he had to use magic to shift realities.

_"Substantiam commuto."_

As he concentrated on replacing magic with subtle science, he could see _everything._ For the first time after coming in contact with magic so long ago, he directed his way through the multiverse in absolute awareness. But even when the change in the hand's nature was implemented, a paradox kept screaming at him.

_Of course._

Close to the one he would have chosen, he found a compatible universe. It used his approach at magic, fine-tuned so far that everything would have exactly the same results, but it was transparent enough for his keen senses to still show him the original dimension.

Everything would be fine once he went back to 1994, and at the same time, he would have to witness the collapse of the world.

It was a small price to pay.


	38. 4: 1994 (5) E

_Friday upload flood: Chapters 32-38_

**1994 (5) E**

His hearts were out of sync again. Even breathing had become arduous.

He would not have returned to this exact year, but he had not been alone in his pain. And he would not let _him_ suffer through this alone, either.

And so, he took yet another step forward and pushed a wooden door open. "It has been far too long, my lord."

He knew _he_ was in the room, but he only caught sight of Peter Pettigrew staring up at him in shock. "_You need to act_ _now_," a quiet, shaky voice cut the silence.

The Doctor took a deep breath and approached the armchair. The Dark Lord appeared as a mere shadow of himself, scrawny and childlike, but he was _alive_.

"I already did," the Doctor spoke softly as he crouched down and grabbed the wizard's deformed hand, "you're still as brilliant as on the day we met, you know?" He looked weak, though, so weak he was actually shivering. "We're in a safe reality now," the Doctor reported with a sad smile, "but you and I, we will still need to watch everything end."

The Dark Lord looked at him with an unreadable expression on an unfamiliar face. "I feared so," he admitted at last, "You did well."

Once again, the Doctor noted how he had never seen his friend so weak. The Dark Lord was gripping his hand like a life line. Unlike the Doctor, he had consciously seen the world degrade, and on top of that, he was in a horrible physical condition. He would not take the upcoming weeks well, but there was no way around it. The Doctor could travel to the future so he would not have to witness what was to come, but he could not risk taking the Dark Lord through the Vortex, for he was bound to it himself.

So everything he could offer was consolidation. "I'll be here."

* * *

_Notes_: and so the Doctor saved the day again, and with quite a cheap trick, indeed, but considering that definition of magic, it's not too far-fetched at all.

In any case, we've still got to revive the Dark Lord. So, as you can probably already guess, tomorrow's chapters will be, err, the grand finale (along with the ones you just read, actually).

So, once more: stay tuned and please review!


	39. 4: 1994 (8) E

Final upload flood: Chapters 39-41  
...although, technically, there still will be an epilogue.

Errrr, in any case, have fun and, once moe, lots of love to my faithful reviewers HaleandCullen and hurricaneclaw! :3

**1994 (8) E**

After roughly thirteen years, the Doctor once more found himself within the halls of Hogwarts; teaching children self-defence in the disguise of a well-respected auror. He would not have accepted Dumbledore's offer for he had intended to stay with his friend, but even the Dark Lord had told him to take the opportunity. "I am content enough to know you are alive," he had spoken rather slowly, "The future generation will benefit greatly from a teacher like you."

"Then…I'll at least make sure to visit you every once in a while," the Doctor had eventually replied with a worried frown. He had not expected his friend to recover from two weeks of phantom pain quite as quickly, but as soon as the neighbouring realities had collapsed entirely, pain and visual distortions had disappeared for both of them. Technically, they could still see past the borders of their own dimension, but on the other side only the Void was left.

The Doctor tried not to think about that too often.

He still had another important task to worry about, one that had been left unattended since 1981: the resurrection of the Dark Lord.

He owed that much to his friend, and so much more.

And, as much as he disliked the idea, he would need Harry Potter's blood for that. That was maybe the most important incentive that had brought him to Hogwarts. The boy had grown up to hate the Dark Lord, and he had good reason for it.

But for the ritual to work favourably, Potter would have to donate that blood _willingly_. He was still not sure how to manage that elegantly, but befriending him in a way felt like a good first step. But beyond that, well…he would have nearly a whole year to worry about that, anyway.


	40. 4: 1995 (4) G

_Gap warning: The Howarts year passed, this happens directly after/while the Doctor and Bellatrix meet near the maze of the tournament's last challenge in 1994(3) G._

**1995 (4) G**

Something had gone wrong. Harry Potter had reached the Triwizard Cup, but he was no longer located on Hogwarts grounds – somebody had come to get him.

_Early._

The Doctor had not understood what was going on until Bellatrix had decided to attack him.

_He will knock four times._

She might be trying to warn him, but in thumping Karkaroff's staff just right, she had told him of the impeding danger much earlier than she was aware of. "I will not let you die today," she had announced with an air of finality.

And he could not care less.

For a long and agonizing moment, the Dark Mark on their forearms reminded them both of its existence – and as such, of their lord's eventual return.

"It's too early," the Doctor whispered in terror and finally succeeded in peeling Bellatrix off himself due to her own momentary distraction. "He was not ready," he rambled on as he reached for the sonic and activated it.

Hogwarts might be surrounded by anti-apparition wards, but undoing almost-teleports had never been included in that rule.

He found himself on the stairs of the Dark Lord's childhood home, the very place he had last disapparated from. He had always disliked its gloomy atmosphere, but, again, he had more important matters to attend to in that moment.

The ritual would not have taken place here, but rather on the graveyard near the house.

And so, the Doctor ran.

He could already see them from a distance: amidst a circle of Death Eaters he had not even expected to be still alive, connected by a single golden swirl of beauty, the Dark Lord and Harry Potter stood as opponents.

He could barely believe his own eyes. The Dark Lord had a form again, a proper, breathing body. But he was not _right_, for something had gone wrong – it had been too early.

The Doctor had told the Dark Lord many times to leave the boy. And yet they were exchanging spells.

"Don't kill the boy!" he yelled as he had come close enough at last.

But he was late again.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Tardus, tarda, tardum. Late, too late.

He could not risk either wizard dying, so he did the only thing he could and lifted his own wand, "Finite incantatem!"

Pure electricity, no, _magic_, split the air.

It did not work, not in the way the spell would normally have.

…but he had never intended it to.

Intercepting a duel of powerful wizards could only mean two things. Either you were too slow or too weak and nothing would happen at all, or both spells would rebound on the third party involved.

The Doctor may have been late, but he was neither slow nor weak.

And so, he only vaguely noticed his own body hitting the statue that marked the grave of the Dark Lord's father. Only one of his hearts was beating, and even that one…barely did.

As he slid down against the gravestone, he was grateful to witness Harry moving quickly, reaching poor Cedric Diggory, summoning the Cup – gone at last.

At least for now, the boy was safe, and, so very unnaturally, the Dark Lord was _raging_. "Harry Potter is mine to kill!" he yelled, storming closer in sheer outrage.

"Do you still not see," the Doctor whispered weakly as his eyes sought the beauty of the Vortex bound to his friend's body, "that the boy is just another part of you?" The golden swirls were still there, and yet so very, very different.

The Doctor watched in silent resignations how the dark figure towering above him seethed in silent fury – brilliant, and yet so _wrong_. But the Dark Lord faltered, if only so very slightly. "Stand before me, Doctor," he demanded in quiet anger, "and explain yourself."

As a flick from the wizard's wand forcefully dragged him back to his feet, the time lord could only smile sadly. "You promised to wait for me, my lord," he spoke as he stood on shaky legs, "the potion was not ready." The tonic of resurrection, meant to recover a person's body to a state it had been in at a given point in the past. "You would have been content again, my lord," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the man he had come to admire so very long ago, "before the prophecy, you were like that." His voice nearly broke, yet he spoke on, "But now I see so much hatred."

The Dark Lord hissed in response, but stopped himself before voicing an answer. There was actual surprise in his eyes; he was beginning to understand the Doctor's reasoning, to see he was less balanced than he should have been.

A droplet of blood from a willing Harry would have brought faith instead of terror.

Another week of waiting would have replaced paranoia with foresight.

The Dark Lord had returned to life again, but at a costly price the Doctor would not be able to repay. "I failed you, my friend," the time lord admitted hoarsely as he reached for the golden swirls that were so distorted and yet so beautiful, "Please…always remember you want to save the world rather than destroy it."

As he glared from the shaky hand on his forearm to its staggering owner, the Dark Lord faltered once more, if only briefly. "Remind me yourself, Doctor," he ordered, "You don't die from a Killing Curse." His words were merciless, but his voice had phrased a question rather than a command.

"Your magic is so much stronger than Bellatrix's," the Doctor replied with another soft smile and an actual tear. He noticed only then how the bright glow of his hand was not another one of the Vortex's swirls. He was beginning to regenerate, and he did not even trust his legs to walk him far enough to save his surroundings from the sheer force of the process.

He would not be able to correct the potion's effects, nor would he be able to return to the Dark Lord's side this time. But the least he could do was refraining from harming him any further. His legs would not carry him, but his screwdriver would. Thankfully, there was always a teleport to undo.

"Farewell, my lord," the Doctor whispered as he slumped against the statue again, "You were brilliant, and you will always be."

The expression he saw on his dear friend's face just before activating the sonic broke the Doctor's hearts yet again.

So much anger, so much fear, but most of all…loneliness.

* * *

Staggering into the Tardis, he collapsed on the console.

His body was all but forcing regeneration upon him, but he was not ready for it, _not yet_. He still had to think, he still had to find a way – a way to save his brilliant friend from a tortured mind imposed on him by a faulty body.

He could not leave him like this, he had to give it one more try…

His gaze, travelling through the console room out of sheer despair, came to a halt on something he had almost forgotten about. Abandoned in a corner, the Shooting Star he had originally bought for Harry stood uselessly.

He had enjoyed Quidditch once, but not so anymore. When he had saved the world on the night of the World Cup, he tricked the universe by modifying the hand of a weeping angel – the Hand of Origin. It had been a dirty trick – and maybe, a dirty trick would work this time, too.

In his state of disappointment, despair, genius and insanity, his mind produced a single thought.

_If he could create a sufficiently grave paradox, he could undo the Dark Lord's new curse in spite of his own involvement._

With a deep intake of air and newfound resolution, he took a firm hold on his wand and forced his body to delay regeneration just a few minutes longer.

At one point, so very long ago, time lords had not merely overseen the flow of time – they had _ruled_ it.

* * *

Notes: oh gawd :'(


	41. 4: 1994 (3) H

****Final upload flood: Chapters 39-41

**1994 (3) H**

Branches in his way, darkness in his view, and yet he kept on walking – but only because his body refused to run. Both the regeneration and the phantom pain from a collision of realities that did not occur were slowing him down greatly. But that did not matter, for he would be in time for once.

He knew where he had to go; he knew what he had to do. He had already lived through this day twice, after all.

"Oh, what a beautiful Dark Mark," he heard a familiar voice singing.

He caught sight of her before she noticed him.

"What year is it?" she wondered as she strolled back to something white that had fallen to the ground. "Have you brought me to the right time?" she asked _it_ with manic grin, "Or do you want some more torture?"

She readied her wand when the Doctor stepped onto the clearing. He did not bother approaching any further, nor did he greet her, partly because he felt awfully weak, but mostly because it was _her_. Bellatrix Lestrange.

In contrast to his own emotions, her face lit up at the sight of him. "Bartemius!" she shrieked in glee, "It worked! You're _here_! The Dark Lord was right after all!" In her enthusiasm to see him, she actually tripped over the former subject of her interest and went down with a cry.

Watching the fallen statue rather than the woman sprawled next to it, the Doctor took a brief moment to pity the poor weeping angel that had been forced to carry out her will. It had lost a hand in the process.

"It was a success!" Bellatrix repeated yet again as she, rather gracelessly, struggled into a sitting position, "We must see him at once!"

The Doctor showed no emotion as he raised his wand. "He is incomplete," he stated quietly, _icily_, "because of you."

She returned his glare with an ignorant smile, "He will rise again, Bartemius," she announced merrily, "With us at his side!"

He scoffed. Apparently, she had not realized yet that he, too, had come from the future. That this was the last she would ever see of him. On the Dark Lord's orders, she had come here to save the Doctor's life, but she did not see how it had, eventually, been her who had sealed his fate to begin with.

And it sickened him. She had destroyed everything, and she would die in ignorance.

Killing Bellatrix there and then would keep her from messing with the Dark Lord's resurrection, and if the Doctor was lucky enough, that simple action would suffice.

"The Dark Lord will outlive both of us," he told her as he concentrated on his wand and flicked it, "Avada –"

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and the words died in his throat. The sound of the universe, the sound of the Tardis, was echoing through the forest and it had, entirely unbidden, alerted him of one simple detail.

The weeping angel had not brought her to that time right away.

He did not lower the wand, but his expression grew almost fearful when he voiced his thoughts, "How much of history did you change already?"

She had been confused, she had been anxious, but after those words, an ugly grin spread on her features. "Enough," she said.

His hearts skipped a beat, and he nearly lost his balance. He stood in a blurry forest with his body screaming in pain and he felt every bit of the end of the world, both in the neighbouring realm and his emotional landscape. His last chance at saving his friend had evaporated for he had just found out that killing Bellatrix Lestrange _would not change anything_.

He stood frozen, shivering with fear, anger and despair.

And Bellatrix laughed.

With a heartfelt glare, he stepped closer and cast a random curse just to _shut her up_, and her laughter turned into screams.

He had lost. She had beat him in his own game, and she was not even aware she was playing it. How _could she_?

"Stop this right now!" his own voice yelled, and he froze yet again as his glare was no longer directed at the witch that had cost him so much… but at his own reflection.

It was that time of the day, then.

"Out of the way, scum," he ordered coldly. He was angry, and he was hurt, and he was not in the mood to deal with his naïve former self.

Said younger self, however, was not impressed, either. "I won't let you harm any more innocents," he replied firmly.

This was so very annoying.

"Innocent?" the Doctor snorted and noted in dismay how Bellatrix had fled in the meantime. His composure was long lost, and he could not help laughing at his own bad luck.

"Innocent until proven otherwise," his younger self insisted and faltered for a moment, "How can you be me and not understand that?" He stared at the Doctor in anger and confusion, and the older time lord reciprocated that feeling all too willingly.

This was so very annoying.

The Doctor's body kept reminding him of how his song was coming to an end, and for once, he actually knew the lyrics. He did not want to repeat them; he did not want to be reminded once again of the cruel limitations to his own choices, but the more he thought about it, the more natural his answers felt. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, his mind refused to provide him with any other words than those he knew he would be uttering anyway. "It is you who understands nothing," he hissed, and no longer cared about repeating unoriginal lyrics. He had lost the game, he was losing his patience, and he was caught in a useless conversation.

He should get back to the Tardis and accept his failure, unless…

_If he could create a sufficiently grave paradox, he could undo the Dark Lord's new curse in spite of his own involvement._

He knew what he would be doing, he knew that he should not be doing it, and he knew that he would end up not doing anything anyway. But sheer despair made him stride closer to his other self with a mad glint in his eye and a nervous twitch in his mouth. Rather than merely blurring away, his vision started fading in and out, warning him of _what he wanted to happen_. "Tell me, Doctor," he whispered and placed the tip of his wand against his younger self's chest, "If I kill you here and now, will it make a difference?"

Worst of all, he was not merely quoting lyrics anymore. He wanted to try it. For once, he wanted to have a say, no matter how, no matter what, and he was tempted to create that wonderful paradox around his own existence.

"It will and it won't, you know that," his younger self snapped, and he smiled at him fondly. Only a bit younger, and still so naïve. He should really save him from all the disappointments that would await him on the slow path, but if he remembered correctly, somebody else was destined to have that honour.

A bright light flashed through the forest, and he witnessed himself falling to the ground in morbid fascination.

"You…can't be serious," he heard his other self stuttering, and he realized he was speaking these exact words at the same time.

Struggling on the ground, clinging to life, the younger time lord did not see how the curse had been cast by the one person he would find himself calling father one day. "You know, you might end up wishing you'd died here tonight," he whispered bitterly just before his other self blacked out.

As the wand dropped out of his hands, Bartemius Crouch Senior's horrified stare travelled from the Doctor to his unconscious counterpart. His mouth stayed shut, but his eyes told everything._ "What are you?"_ he stammered at last and stumbled back a few paces, his face aghast. A shaky hand gestured towards the younger time lord, and Bartemius' eyes reflected rather clearly how he remembered losing his wife the last time he had seen his son twice.

The Doctor spent a long moment simply looking at the man he had, at one point, called father. He stood right in front of him, breathing, living, misunderstanding him just like he had done it most of the time. But he had never realized how that misunderstanding had gone far enough for Bartemius to grow that desperate.

Desperate enough to cast a confounding spell of such frantic force that it actually triggered regeneration. He might not have intended a lethal blow, but he had managed just that.

Old pain threatened to resurface, but the Doctor remembered Bartemius' last moments, which had happened in a forest not unlike this one, too clearly to be resentful anymore. "I'm a time traveller, father," he told him simply, "and you just killed me before I even knew you." He could not tell the exact meaning of Bartemius' incredulous stare, and there was no need to, either. "But don't worry about that," he assured him with a resigned smile, "I won't know until now." Slowly, painfully, he approached his father. "And you don't need to worry about this me, either," he offered nonchalantly, "I'm done for, too."

Something shifted in Bartemius' stare. Regret and resignation. Just like last time, he had decided to accept whatever revenge his son had in mind without wording anything.

But revenge was the last thing the Doctor wanted. "I would like to thank you while I still can," he whispered and actually pulled his father into a hug, "This world has been an… exciting adventure." He took a deep, shaky breath, never releasing the wizard from the hug. "Humans walk the slow path so gracefully, so patiently," he mused quietly, "but I can no longer do that."

The Doctor waited for a moment, but of course, Bartemius found no words.

"Farewell, father," he whispered at last and raised his wand, "_Obliviate_."

As he watched a temporarily dazed Bartemius wandering off, the regeneration process sent several waves of pain through his body. Finally the Doctor turned to stagger back to the Tardis.

"Goodbye, Wizarding Britain," he announced and cast a final look at the scenery before closing the door behind him.

"I don't want to go," he whispered, "but I have to."

* * *

His name had been Bartemius Crouch Junior. He had walked the slow path to become a son, a saviour and a friend.

And it was time to start running again.

**Part 4: The Dark Lord - End**

* * *

Notes: Badadum. And so the story ended right where it began. Time travel is such a convenient plot device, really.

So now, please remember to apply cold water to the burned area. But if this wasn't bad enough for you yet, feel free to consider how (read backwards _if willing_:)  
.rotcoD eht gnisol htiw gnipoc deganam reven eh esuaceb deneppah ruof koob retfa did droL kraD eht gnihtyreve

Tomorrow I'll upload the epilogue that's basically meant to somehow compensate for the dire aftertaste of this. So see you then!


	42. 5: Sometime, anytime

_Notes:_ Yay, feedback! Lots of love to bbfitz, HaleandCullen, The pen name has been taken, hurricaneclaw and LittleSara! I'm really glad you guys took, err, the blow so well x3

So now, as to the promised epilogue...

Back a couple of weeks ago, when I was writing the parts where the Doctor still appeared to be a child, I had the strange idea that it might have been that particular experience that had resulted in Eleven being so very child- and family-friendly.  
So, err, why am I mentioning that? Well, for obvious reasons, this epilogue stars him as well as Ten. So, have fun :)

**_Epilogue - Moments_**

**_Somewhere, anywhere _**

"Doctor, I just tripped over a broomstick. In the library."

Blinking, the Doctor looked up from the book he had been reading to find his latest travelling companion stomping in his direction with a broom in her hand. "Well then, better watch out for broomsticks next time," he told her wisely.

"But what's it doing in the library?" she asked in bewilderment and glared at the object in question, "And what is it really? It's got strange hooks and I doubt it sweeps anything at all."

"It's not just a broomstick," he explained offhandedly, "It's a _flying_ broomstick – a Shooting Star, to be more exact."

Her incredulous stare travelled from the broomstick to the Doctor. "Are you kidding me?" she asked, "Next you'll tell me that magic exists and the sonic screwdriver is actually a _wand_."

He looked at her with a frown. "Of course that's not true," he replied seriously, "the sonic is so much better than magic."

When Amy rolled her eyes, he added thoughtfully, "You were close, though. I actually keep a wand next to the sonic in my pocket, just in case." Rummaging a bit, he produced it at last. Admittedly, it was Alastor Moody's wand rather than his own, but it had served him well enough.

"Avis!"

A flock of birds flying out of the tip of the wand left Amy speechless and the Doctor reminiscent. Much time had passed since he had last resorted to using magic even though, at one point in time, he had utilized it on a daily basis.

Back then, walking the slow path had been a hard lesson to learn, but eventually, many precious moments prevailed in his memory.

* * *

**1974**

"I dropped my screwdriver!"

Arching an eyebrow rather lazily, Severus did not seem to see the problem. "Well, pick it up," he suggested with a shrug and resumed reading. Lily, however, did not approve of his attitude. "Severus, he's your friend, isn't he?" she chided and held out her hand to the Doctor, "I'm Lily Evans, by the way."

He was taken aback for a moment, but the time lord recovered quickly enough to shake her hand. "Hello," he introduced himself rather awkwardly, still not used to the new name, "I'm Barty Crouch Junior."

He had stormed into the library because he knew he would find Severus there, but he had not expected the secluded teen to have company – a pretty Gryffindor girl, no less.

"So where did you drop your screwdriver?" Lily asked kindly.

Suddenly reminded of his latest misery, the Doctor blinked again. "On the roof," he admitted sheepishly, "The stellar constellations above Hogwarts don't look the way they're supposed to, so I wanted to check in which way the sky is bewitched." He scratched his chin. "One of the local crows apparently wondered, too, so it snatched the screwdriver from my hand." With a frown at his wand, he added, "_Accio_ won't work, probably because said crow is kind of clingy."

This time, it was Lily who was taken aback. Just like anybody else, she had apparently not expected the Doctor to ramble that openly. "Why do you need a screwdriver for something like that?" she asked at last.

He frowned. "Well, it's sonic," he explained with a shrug, "it can…scan things and I don't really know how to get those readings with a wand…yet." Lily's expression grew only more confused. Either she had not heard of a _sonic_ screwdriver yet, or she was perplexed by his open fondness of technology, especially since he had gotten himself sorted into Slytherin somehow.

In that moment, Severus decided to participate in the conversation again. "The crow will let go of it eventually," he commented quietly, "just wait a bit and try summoning it again."

The Doctor crossed his arms. "Really?" he asked and tilted his head, "I mean, magic can do so much. There's seriously no other way?"

As Severus sighed in exasperation, Lily suddenly grinned. "Have you ever ridden a broom, Barty?"

* * *

**1978**

When the applause died away and the audience started filing out of the performance hall, Cornelia still did not move. The Doctor sent her a worried glance.

"Isn't it strange how, out of all possible genres, drama gets to you so much more intensely?" she pondered with a light sniff.

His expression softened as he offered her a handkerchief. "It's such a pleasantly _humane_ feeling, though, isn't it?" he replied wistfully and looked back at the stage. It was mostly hidden by a red curtain again, but mere minutes ago, a wonderful staging of 'La traviata' had come to its tragic conclusion there.

With a slight nod, Cornelia stirred at last. "_Pleasantly humane_, you say," she repeated slowly and got up from her seat, "I still feel bad for enjoying such awfully sad stories."

"Shouldn't we all?" he chuckled lightly. "Much like Shakespeare or Schiller, Verdi really knew how to address the audience by their emotions," he mused as he followed her towards the exit where Bartemius as well as Mr. and Mrs. Fudge were already waiting for them, "grand art becomes so much more meaningful if you can convince the masses to actually think about it."

"Well then, what _do you_ think about it?" Bartemius took over the conversation in a rather pleasant voice. It was not obvious to anybody who had not known him for long, but the opera had managed touching him, too.

"It is of course a classic," Fudge answered in a quipped voice, "yet I still prefer Wagner's mythological storytelling."

"However, Verdi is more honest," Bartemius countered smoothly, "To me it seems favourable to communicate a clear message rather than a flexible one."

"But they both achieved a lot in their respective fields," the Doctor intercepted with a frown, "really, comparing Verdi and Wagner is about as fair as likening an apple to a pear."

Suddenly, Cornelia snickered next to him. "I've been considering baking a pear cake for your birthday, son," she announced happily, "I'm glad you've finally grown out of your distaste for them."

The Doctor's eyes widened. "Oy! Stop using my own arguments against me!"

* * *

**1981**

"I just left a very large stack of books for you," the Doctor announced good-naturedly as he approached his friend, "it'll get jealous if you keep summoning me randomly like that."

"Let it be jealous, then," the Dark Lord replied with an arched eyebrow, "I'm sure it will take your absence better than I would."

The Doctor laughed and flung himself onto the couch in his friend's study. "So, what is it?" he asked, "and what have you been up to, anyway?"

"There has been no further progress on the search for proper magic that would be worth mentioning," the Dark Lord reported as he rested his chin on his palm, "again."

The Doctor frowned. "I'm working on it," he replied slowly, "but research takes time."

The wizard met his eyes. "I did not mean to reproach you," he clarified carefully, "I am merely asking for a bit of your time."

The Doctor allowed himself to resume smiling. "Do you want me to tell you about the stars again?" he asked softly.

The Dark Lord nodded, but the Doctor did not bother coming up with a suitable anecdote this time. Instead, he got up again. "You know, in a wider sense of the word, we're both wizards," he announced, "I might not have my time machine, but we can still apparate _anywhere in the whole universe_." With that, he grabbed his friend's hand and grinned, "Let's skip the stories and travel for real this time!"

They lost one of the Doctor's shoes in a volcano, they got themselves trapped within an ancient tomb for two days and they accidentally got banned from the planet of Barcelona.

It had been _so worth it_.

* * *

**1994***

The Yule Ball was coming to an end. While he had enjoyed the atmosphere, the Doctor rather regretted not being able to actually join the crowd as he was still bound to the appearance of Alastor Moody, and, as such, rather immobile.

"Would you like to dance?"

His gaze snapped from the students to the wide eyes of Sybill Trelawney, and he blinked. "I have a wooden leg," he replied more harshly than intended.

Her smile faltered. "That's really a shame," she stuttered and lowered her gaze, "You used to be such a good dancer."

Even though he did not mean to scare her off, his frown deepened. Only Severus, Dumbledore and McGonagall were supposed to know about his true identity, and yet he highly doubted Sybill had even met the real Alastor Moody before he had lost a leg.

"I was relieved to see you alive," she mumbled quietly, and that made him blink yet again. So she _had_ found out. But considering her psychic abilities, he really should not be that surprised. "I'm not dangerous," he clarified carefully.

"No, you never were," she agreed with a slow nod and a sad expression, "but my words were too quiet to be listened to."

That unexpected revelation actually made him smile. "So were mine," he replied quietly and stood up at last, testing his wooden leg carefully. "You know, we might as well give this a try," he announced and offered her his hand, "This is already the last song, anyway."

* * *

**1995***

"How long has it been since we've last done this?" the Doctor asked conversationally as he placed two pints of butterbeer on the table, "fifteen years?"

"Sixteen," Severus corrected him, accepting the beverage with a curt nod.

The Doctor accepted the information with a low hum. "It doesn't feel like that much at all," he commented and eased himself into a more comfortable position.

"As of late, ingredients are mysteriously vanishing from my personal supplies," Severus remarked after a while and arched an eyebrow at the Doctor, "You don't happen to know where they went, do you?"

It sounded rather harsh in Moody's voice, and yet the time lord could not help laughing. "You can't accuse me of stealing them, per se, you know," he replied good-naturedly, "I told you I would raid the supply chamber every once in a while, and Dumbledore actually permitted it."

Severus smiled dryly. More accurately, they had agreed on the Doctor _asking_ the potions master for supplies whenever he needed some, but both knew the time lord had not minded that particular arrangement out of nostalgia. Back during their days at Hogwarts, the Doctor had rarely ever taken the time to buy or even ask for ingredients whenever he had found out about a new potion worth trying out. More often than not, it had been Severus' personal storage that had suffered, but the wizard had never actually complained. Rather, he had learned a lot that way, for whenever one of them had found the other experimenting, they had ended up having quite a good time in working on it _together_.

Both lost in their own thoughts, they sipped on their drinks in companionable silence. Finally, Severus decided to voice a question that must have been on his mind for quite a while, "Back then, how did you survive?" His watchful gaze rested on the Doctor, but the currently very human time lord did not meet his eyes. Rather, Moody's magical eye alerted him of something else. "Luck and just a bit cleverness," he replied rather curtly, "but this is a story for another day." With a slight huff, he raised his voice, "Potter, Granger, Weasley, if you're already eavesdropping, why don't you join us?"

On cue, three embarrassed students emerged from their hiding spot around the corner. "We were just…getting warmed up! It's _freezing_ outside!" Ronald explained hastily, but quickly shrunk away under his teachers' stare.

Severus heaved a sigh, but the Doctor moved over on the bench. "Well, have a seat," he all but commanded and grinned inwardly when the trio joined them and awkwardly began talking about the Triwizard Tournament. In all honesty, he had invited them simply to tease Severus. He had not expected them to actually comply, but he didn't mind the children's company either.

* * *

**_Anywhere, anywhen_**

Thinking back to those times, the Doctor found himself lost in nostalgia.

Back then, he had spent many a day in relative misery, and yet… "Those were good times," he admitted wistfully. He had met great people in Wizarding Britain and he had experienced something entirely new. In the end, he had stayed just long enough to accomplish what he had promised to do, even though not everything had gone according to plan.

"Apropos," he pondered as he turned on his heels, strolling back towards the console, "I should really check on an old friend." Ignoring Amy's surprised gasp, he pressed buttons, pulled levers, and suddenly halted. "…or not," he concluded, whirled around and leant casually against the console with a mysterious smile.

"What?" Amy replied incredulously as she stamped up to him, "I can get a glimpse of your past and suddenly you don't want to go anymore? You're not getting off the hook that easily, Doctor." She was giving him the _look_, but he dodged it by pacing away again.

"Sometimes, my dear Amelia, it's better not to know," he announced loftily, "It's like reading the last page of a book. Suddenly, it's over, and there is nothing you can do about it." The redhead watched him with a frown, so he added, "Awful feeling, really."

Amy scoffed. "I'm sure your friend doesn't mind you saying hello," she commented quietly, "I sure wouldn't."

Halting in his step, the Doctor looked at her for a long moment. "Yes," he agreed with a nod, "maybe another day." Throwing his hands in the air, he added, "There's so much more to explore before that!" Both of them knew he was running again. No matter what had happened to the wizarding world after his departure, once he actually went to find out, it would be set in stone. And, well, when merely observing it would either kill the cat or let it live, he would rather not take a look at all.

"As we're already at it," he mused and grinned again, "why don't we meet up with Schrödinger and Einstein?" Once more, he began fiddling with the console, rambling, "They had some really inspiring conversations in the early twentieth century!"

With a long sigh, Amy gave in at last, "Whatever you say, Doctor."

The Tardis landed, and the Doctor bounced. "Well then," he declared happily, "Come along, Pond."

**Gödel's Incompleteness - The End **

* * *

_Notes: _Hmmm, pears. Now I want to eat pears. In Barcelona.

Anyways, I've got some good and some bad news for you (and I'll let you decide which is which) Firstly, this story is finally over and secondly, I don't think I can leave it at that.

I never really expected this fanfiction to grow much longer than maybe a thousand words (because most plot bunnies meet that fate), and so I left out a lot of potential filler episodes because I feared my writing enthusiasm would die once I blurred the storyline too much. So now, I ended up putting some of that filler material in the epilogue, but there's another thing I'm not entirely happy about.

I never really wanted the Doctor to teach _undercover_. I still had him do it because branching off there would have meant sacrificing plot and atmosphere for, err, the greater good. Rehabilitating him, just as Dumbledore had initially suggested, would have taken this story into the realm of relative absurdity and fan fiction clichés, at least to a certain degree.

But you know what? I like that realm, too.

So because I still can't let go of this universe (and I really love the relationship between the Doctor and the Dark Lord), I'm actually working on an alternate end which can also count as a sequel (but will official be neither because that would be _too good to be true_). There's still so much potential for happier episodes that want to be written down. Within the Whoniverse, that continuation would be entirely possible, but it would be a horrible decision by means of storytelling.

Let me know if you still want to see that additional part in spite of it somewhat clashing with the flow of the story, so I might put it up as noncanonical bonus material in case my muse allows me to finish it.

In any case, we're done with the actual story. And to be honest, I'm really proud of you for putting up with it. If anybody can keep up with time travel and separately told story lines, it's Whovians :D (that actually applies to the drama part, as well - I might not have dared writing this if the Master episodes hadn't been so emotionally disturbing anyway)

So thanks a lot for accompanying me on this exciting journey! I'm glad I could share this with you, and, as always, I'll be more than happy about feedback.

And apropos, since I finally remembered my password thanks to uploading this, I might actually leave signed reviews rather than anonymous ones from now on, so: See you again within the wonderful world of HP-DW-crossovers! x3 (additional words here because of word count neurosis)

Love, Linnya


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